Eldertale
by ZaleAcon
Summary: An old man falls into the Underground. Now all he has to do is get back out.
1. Prologue

**Prologue: Falling Down (And Where He Landed)**

Everyone in the village knew to keep away from Mt. Ebott. Its name had long since become a ward, a barrier to keep the residents from stepping foot upon its blackened slopes. But more importantly, it represented two things to the villagers.

First and foremost, it represented the all-too-recent war that had occurred between humans and monsters. It represented the prison that kept the victors and the losers separate. To the world at large, it was something to be avoided, to be feared, and to be untouched by time and man.

But to the villagers, it was the opposite. Mt. Ebott still remained an object of fear, yes, but it was also something they were thankful for each and every day. To the villagers, it was something to cling to. Few people went near it, so they could live at its foot without having to worry that anyone would come to take them away.

For that reason – and for that reason alone –, the villagers remained at the foot of Mt. Ebott. They could have fled any day, but they were too thankful to leave. So long as they never climbed the mountain, as the foolish had done before, they would continue to live in peace and harmony. They would not vanish, as five of them had over the past fourteen years, and the mountain's inhabitants would give them no trouble.

It was the perfect situation, and that was why Grandt had to climb the mountain.

Of course, his reasons were far more complex than that, but he could still not help but think as though his childish curiosity was a small part of it. Even for a man of sixty-one years, Grandt had been prone to acting in that way. Perhaps it was because he was that old, he'd reasoned before, and he felt he had the right to act childish.

That wasn't his only reason, however, and it was certainly not the reason that drove him to climb the mountain. But it was still a reason, regardless, and it was a reason that said, "I want to climb the mountain because it's there."

Grandt smiled a bit to himself at the thought. The other villagers often called him "straitlaced" or "docile." Well, he'd certainly show them. If he were fast enough, he could climb Mt. Ebott, watch the sunrise, and return just in time to wake his granddaughter up with some eggs and bacon. She always stayed up late on weekends, anyway, so she'd probably sleep in a bit later than usual. And in case he took a bit more time to get back, he had left her enough food to make it a few days – just in case.

Well, it seemed he would not be making it back tomorrow morning, at least.

Grandt stood in a cave on the mountain, watching as rain poured down just outside the opening. The sky had gone black with clouds, and the rocks just outside were slick enough that he'd no doubt he would fall if he were to try to climb back down.

He leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his bald head both out of frustration and a desire to wipe away the water that now dripped down his wrinkled face, accumulating at his grayed beard. What a fool he'd been, trying to scale a mountain on his own! Rather, trying to scale _the_ mountain – a mountain considered so dangerous that only five villagers had climbed it in the time since the village was first founded, and all of them had disappeared. What a fool he'd been.

"Still," he muttered to himself, "there's no point in getting so frustrated over it. I can climb back down tomorrow when it's dry, and then I'll..."

Grandt paused for a moment, suddenly worrying for the granddaughter whom he'd left alone. What if he couldn't climb down? he thought with a start. What if the trail proved too difficult?

What a fool he'd been! What an old, senile fool! What had possessed him to climb Mt. Ebott, really, beyond his own narcissistic overestimation of his abilities? He was an old man – too old, really, to do something so strenuous. Grandt should have asked one of the villagers to go with him. No, better yet, he should not have gone at all.

 _"Do you want to come watch the sunrise with me?"_

No, that was gone. Those days were gone. It'd been so long since he'd the sun come up in the morning. Now there was nothing but the side of the mountain and the sun setting at twilight.

"Damn me," he swore under his breath, suddenly grabbing at his left shoulder as pain lanced through it. "Damn me!"

His anger was suddenly cut short as he noticed something else standing out in the rain. It appeared to be a person about his height, but the darkness kept it as little more than a silhouette, with something metallic clutched in its left hand.

Lightning flashed, and for a moment Grandt thought he could see the person outside the cave. Then the silhouette vanished.

Grandt suddenly felt very frightened. Had a villager followed him up the mountain after all? And if one did, why were they holding a gun?

Grandt's heart – it was as old as he was, he'd often joked – beat faster in his chest. Pain once again ran through his shoulder, but he was too busy watching the cave's entrance to pay attention. He stepped back, further and further, not once taking his eyes away from the darkness outside.

He should've been watching the area behind him. His lack of doing so caused him to ignore the very large, very _deep_ pit at the back of the cave.

Grandt's foot caught on the edge. Before he could realize what was going on, it was already too late. He fell back backwards, without time to even scream, into another kind of darkness.

* * *

When Grandt finally awoke in the dark cavern, his entire body ached. His spine felt as though it had been crushed beneath his weight, while his arms and legs seemed to have twisted with the force of the drop. His mouth was dry and his eyesight was dim, but whether that was the result of the fall or simply because of the natural darkness was something he couldn't quite say. Mostly because his brain was swimming in agony.

He forced himself upright, noticing that none of his bones appeared to be broken. There were small cuts and bruises on his legs and forearms, but nothing too bad.

After sitting still for several minutes and trying to piece together what had happened, Grandt forced himself to stand upright. His bones cracked from the effort, and the sudden looseness was more than welcome. The aches went away quickly, leaving only his parched throat and his still-injured spine for him to contend with. However, all things considered, Grandt was hardly going to complain about a minor injury such as that. He had endured far worse in his life, after all, so a mere bruise here or there meant nothing.

He ran a hand over his beard. It was clear that he had fallen after climbing Mt. Ebott. That much he knew. But where was he now?

It was too dark for him to see – save for the vague light flitting through the hole above him, which served only to remind him of how far he had fallen –, so Grandt took some time to grope around the area in search of landmarks. Or rather, in search of his belongings.

He came upon his rucksack quickly and tore it open. He shoved his hand inside, hoping to find something that he could use. All his food items had been crushed beyond recognition and his flashlight was shattered, but his bottle of water had miraculously survived the fall. With the frenzy of a wild animal, Grandt ripped the cap off and drank deep, letting the cool water run down his throat and ease its dryness. He simply stood there for a time, drinking down every drop, and then he lowered the bottle from his lips with a gasping breath.

Now that he was almost completely placated, Grandt went back to fulfilling his original plan of searching for landmarks. His search, however, proved fruitless, as he found nothing but a bed of soft golden flowers like the kind that grew in the village square, and the walls around him were too smooth and circular to have any major outcroppings.

Grandt took a long moment to realize his position, feeling over his face with his non-bottle-holding hand. _What have I done?_ he thought to himself. _I can't have gotten into a situation like this – not now! What if she needs me? What if she–?_

His thoughts were interrupted when he noticed a small tunnel to his right. Grandt paused for a moment, then shook his head. No, he could worry about his granddaughter later. She was resourceful enough to take care of herself. All that mattered for now was that he had to make his way back to the village on his own.

Grandt stepped down the tunnel cautiously, making sure to check for holes or other traps along the way. He found none, though, and came to the realization that the ground was surprisingly smooth, as though some other creature had cut it, rather than it being a natural cave. Peculiar indeed.

After a few short steps, Grandt found something else peculiar: an archway, once again a sign that this strange cave was manmade. But why, and for what purpose? He found himself thinking about that as he entered through the arch, and very nearly stepped passed the odd new face without noticing it.

However, he did notice it, much to his confusion. There, sitting in the middle of a well-lit patch of dirt, was a golden flower with a widely smiling face.

"Howdy!" it said, in a voice that was much a bit too cheery for Grandt's liking. A bit too fake. "I'm Flowey! Flowey the Flower!"

Grandt wasn't a complete fool. He'd been stupid enough to climb the mountain, but he knew a thing or two about the world. Sixty-one years of living did that for a person.

Maybe it was because of the legends surrounding the monsters, or maybe it was just because he _knew_ the flower was faking its enthusiasm, Grandt didn't trust it one bit.

"Hmm? What's with that look, old man?" Flowey asked, not once losing that cheery grin. "Are you lost? Well, don't you worry! Your good friend Flowey will give you a hand!"

"I don't think I need any help, thank you," Grandt said quickly. "I'll be fine on my own."

Flowey's smile seemed to change a bit. "Oh, reeaaaaally?" he asked. "Well, I'm sure you will be, but the Underground's a pretty scary place for people who don't know how to get around!"

"I'm sure I've seen worse." Grandt slowly ran a hand over his forehead. "Thank you for your offer, but I really can't accept it."

Flowey's grin seemed to shift. "Of course, of course! I mean, an old guy like you must've seen some really bad stuff in his life, right? Golly, I can't even _begin_ to imagine it!"

There was a twinge of sarcasm to his words. No, definitely a bit more than a twinge. He sounded like Dyse after a particularly bad night of drinking. Or maybe like Relef after being ordered to do… to do _anything_ , really.

 _Relef._

Grandt grabbed his arm slowly. Unthinkingly.

 _Don't. Don't think about it. It's too much._

"Yes, right," he murmured. "Now then, ah… If you'll excuse me, I must be going."

"Alright, then! Bye, old man! _Have fun._ "

Flowey pulled himself underground, disappearing from sight. With his exit, the room had suddenly become deathly quiet. It had gone from bright but unnerving to looking as dark as the Underground's entrance. The large beam of light in the room's center still kept the corners hidden, and Grandt feared that anything could be hiding in them, just waiting to pounce and kill him and take his SOUL.

Grandt sighed to himself, moving his hand up to slowly stroke his beard. What had he gotten himself into? Falling down like this, trapped within the place so many were told to avoid, with no way out in sight, and all for what? So that he could enjoy a sunrise?

So that he could fulfill a promise?

He should have been smarter. He should have _thought_ , not _acted_. But he hadn't, and now he was certain he would be trapped within the mountain forever. The monsters would pick him apart, and he would die.

Mt. Ebott would be his tomb.

Grandt cursed himself under his breath. What would happen to his granddaughter if he did not return? Even if Dyse and Kira and everyone else pitched in to help her, so what? They still struggled to survive themselves, and making them all take care of a child on top of that…

No, he had to return, even if it required him to dig his way out of the mountain by hand. He would live on his own if he had to, he would…

 _Don't be stupid,_ he interrupted himself bitterly. _You don't have that kind of time. Not anymore._

Shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, Grandt stepped forward. His hiking boots thumped against the rocky floor as he walked and kicked up dirt when he went over Flowey's former perch. Every step felt like lead, as though he were weighed down by his own hubris.

Finally he stopped, taking a moment to breathe. _It'll be fine_ , he tried to tell himself. _She's resourceful. She doesn't need me around now. She's almost eleven, she can… She can manage for herself._

Grandt ran a hand through his beard again, stretching out his lower jaw. He knew she could be fine, but at the same time, he couldn't help but worry. Even so, he–

" _Just kidding_!"

Grandt whirled around quickly as Flowey emerged from the dirt again, his expression significantly changed. Wide, empty eyes and a nightmarish grin now replaced that fake, friendly smile.

"Wh-what the hell?!" Grandt gasped as he stumbled back.

"What's wrong, _old man_?" Flowey said. "Didn't you know? Why, here in the Underground, it's _kill_ or _be killed_!"

A row of white, bullet-shaped objects materialized around Flowey. Without any warning, they flew forward and crashed into Grandt's chest. He let out a choked gasp and fell back on the stony ground.

"Now, then… Let's take a peek at _your_ SOUL, shall we?" Grandt heard as a new ring of bullets appeared around him.

He watched in horror as his SOUL – his core, his _self_ – emerged from his chest, as was typical in a dangerous or magically infused situation. It hung overtop him, radiating a dull light as the bullets began to slowly close in.

"Green, eh? Never seen that color before," Flowey said. Then he giggled. "Well, not like it matters, anyway."

The bullets smashed into Grandt's SOUL. He let out a choked gasp and threw his head back as a wave of pain rushed over him. His vision blurred, but he still held on to his consciousness as best as he was able, even as the world shifted from black to red to white to red again.

"Oh? You're _still_ hanging in there?" Flowey asked in a bored tone. "Wow, you're _really something_ , aren't'cha? Too bad you're also dead," he added as a new ring of bullets surrounded Grandt's SOUL.

Grandt struggled to stand up. To do something. To do _anything_. But his body wouldn't respond. It was locked in place by pain and exhaustion. Even his thoughts were becoming messy and incoherent, marred by the sharp stings in his skull and chest.

All he could do was watch helplessly as the ring came closer, faster than before and without any sort of mercy or pause. It became smaller as it reached his SOUL. There was nothing he could do, no act he could take to slow its arrival. He simply snapped his eyes shut and prayed that it would be quick.

But much to his surprise, there was no sudden burst of agony followed by endless darkness. Instead, he felt much the opposite; the pain slowly decreased until it became nil, and a feeling of refreshment washed over him.

 _Healing magic? No… No, that doesn't exist…_

Grandt slowly opened his eyes, now aware that something very odd had just occurred. He slowly forced his way to his feet, keeping his eyes on Flowey all the while. Flowey seemed just as surprised as Grandt. His expression had returned to normal, but his cheery grin was now replaced by a deep frown.

"This… What is–?" Flowey started, only to be distracted as a ball of fire materialized nearby.

Grandt stared at it for a moment, mesmerized by its fluidity and its suddenness. The strange will-o-wisp flickered in and out of existence for several seconds before fully forming in a large sphere of blue. His legs still shook, though.

Suddenly and without warning, the fire shot forward. It crashed into Flowey and sent him flying back. He let out a loud cry before fleeing underground, hopefully for good, this time.

Grandt let out a sigh of relief and pressed his fingers against the side of his neck. His heartbeat was slower now, but it was still faster than he would have liked. At least his SOUL was no longer out in the open. It had sunken back into his chest as soon as Flowey ran off.

 _But still_ , he thought, _is this truly how dangerous the Underground is? I'd heard it wasn't safe, but for something so small to pose such a large threat, I–_

"Excuse me?" called a distinctly feminine voice. It echoed off the walls, letting Grandt know that the speaker was nearby, but unseen.

He ducked down into the darkness. There was no need to put himself in danger's way again, after all, and he had no idea whether the speaker was friend or foe.

Flowey's words echoed in his head: "Why, here in the Underground, it's _kill_ or _be killed_!" No doubt this new creature would follow the same philosophy, and if it was the one that had attacked the flower, then he would have quite the fight on his hands.

Grandt clenched his fist. More pain lanced through his left shoulder. He needed to watch his heartbeat, but he was too focused on the new arrival to pay attention. It didn't matter how soon his heart chose to kill him if this creature killed him _now_.

A figure stepped through the darkness towards the center, tall, foreboding. It – she? – was at least a head taller than him, and Grandt did not like that one bit. In battle, having any sort of advantage was crucial, and he clearly had none. This creature had him in height. She certainly had him bested in magic.

Teeth pressed against teeth, nails against palm. Now or never, never or now. Heart beating fast.

 _Too fast._

"What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent–"

 _Now_.

Grandt stood up quickly in the darkness and charged toward his latest assailant. His legs were still shaking from the fall, but hopefully they would be enough.

They weren't. He caught a slight glimpse of the creature before his right leg gave way. It collapsed beneath him and splayed out to the side.

He looked up and saw the creature standing nearby. The light from above illuminated her features a bit more. Curse his luck, she was a Boss Monster! He had heard of them before, but he had never seen one in person. And now he sat on the ground before her, a lamb to the slaughter, leg-splayed and injured and soon to be dead.

Damned fool! Old, idiotic, stupid, damned fool! He should have known from the start there was no chance of escape, but no, he still kept on hoping!

 _Too fast_. _Too fast!_

It didn't matter how fast it was. He was soon to die, regardless, and he would never have the chance to apologize to her. To any of them.

 _Traitors… don't deserve to live._

No, no, _no_! That was wrong it was wrong he was _wrong_! There was no treachery. There was no treachery. There was no–

Grandt's breath quickened, and his heartbeat soared.

 _Everything was aflame_ _no stop_ _stop don't I_ –

Grandt's chest seemed to cave in on itself, and the Boss Monster stared at him as his heart exploded in agony. He couldn't breathe anymore. Bile rose in his mouth, consuming his lungs. His pain and panic merged into one unstoppable force.

 _Don't do it leave them alone leave them alone stop it STOP IT he never betrayed you–_

Grandt fell forward, head crashing against the dirt. The world shifted and curved and turned and _wasn't_ , fading from his sight and becoming nothing but a wall of pure blackness.

And then, as he heard the monster cry out, even that blackness disappeared.

* * *

 **Author's Note: It's certainly been a while since I last wrote anything, especially for this site. It's almost nostalgic, coming back here. Anyway, this story is obviously going to diverge quite a bit from canon, especially where our protagonist is concerned. Grandt is my answer to the** _ **Undertale**_ **fandom's love of inserting young, powerful people into the Underground, and he is an absolute joy to write. Believe me when I say that this story will be a lot of fun for me, so I hope you all can enjoy it just as much, if not more.**

 **For the curious, this story takes place several years before** _ **Undertale**_ **proper, with Grandt serving as the fifth human SOUL that would be captured by the monsters in the game itself.**

 **Please feel free to offer me any suggestions in regard to characterization or anything else that seems off. Any sort of feedback at all will be highly appreciated!**

 **EDIT: As of October 21, 2016, this chapter has undergone some major revisions. I've rewritten a few sentences so that it flows better, and I've added a few lines of foreshadowing. Hopefully it's a bit more enjoyable this way! I plan to do the same to the next few chapters if I get the chance.**


	2. Chapter 1-1

**Chapter 1: Leaves Mulch to be Desired**

When Grandt awoke again, he was greatly relieved to find that it was in his bed, tucked safely away beneath the covers, with no flowers or monsters in sight. It must have all been a nightmare, he decided. Some phantom dream. He'd forget about it soon enough, and then he could move on with his life.

And yet as Grandt sat up, he noticed how dry his mouth felt. Had he not had anything to drink lately? No, that wasn't it. The pain in his chest and back still persisted. Then again, that was normal; while some may not have called Grandt old at sixty one, he had not aged gracefully, and it reflected in every bone and muscle and tendon in his body. It was not uncommon for him to awake in pain, especially if he had been moving much in his sleep.

Then he noticed a larger and more prominent inconsistency: his bed was much shorter than before. His feet all but hung off the end beneath the (admittedly comfortable) covers. But that made no sense. He hadn't changed his bed throughout his stay in Ebott, after all. At least, not as far as he recalled.

Grandt let out a quiet groan out of irritation and tiredness. There was no point simply staying in bed and waiting to discover what had occurred. If he was genuinely curious, then it only made sense for him to take action.

He swung his legs around the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. Rather than the wooden floor he was used to, his feet touched against what felt like either a rug or carpeting. Grandt reached out with his right hand in search of a light source, but he found there was no such thing nearby. His eyes were adjusted well enough, though. He could make out a vaguely lamp-shaped object on the other side of the room.

Slowly, with legs still shaking, Grandt stood up, using a nearby dresser for support. It seemed to be a rug instead of a carpet, given that he could feel a small bit of wood beneath his right foot, but he put such thoughts out of his mind for now. Instead, he simply walked forward, stepping slowly and carefully across the unfamiliar floor.

He reached out for the (probable) lamp, searching the stand for its switch. Grandt then found it and clicked it on. The room was suddenly bathed in light, blinding him for a moment. Then his vision cleared, and Grandt could see the room more clearly.

It was a decently sized room, with – as he had suspected – wooden floor and a large rug in its center. Curiously enough, it was almost completely empty, with all the furniture in a straight row on the wall opposite the door. There was the lamp on its table, of course, along with a tall dresser, a box filled with small shoes, a picture of a flower, the bed, and… was that another lamp? The first was already incredibly, ridiculously bright. Who needed that much light?

As he stared at it, Grandt found his eyes drawn down to a pair of stuffed animals beside the bed, as well as a box filled with toys at the bed's foot. It seemed to be a child's room, or perhaps simply a room that had once housed a child (multiple children, given the large variety of shoe sizes). Either way, it wasn't Grandt's room, and that fact disturbed him more than anything else.

Awakening in an unknown place was never a good sign. Awakening in an unknown place without knowing how you got there? That was even worse.

He leaned against the nearby wall, struggling to stand. His legs were shaking again, but now it was from fear more than from pain.

Slowly, as if by instinct, Grandt looked down at himself and found that even his clothes had been changed in his sleep. Gone were his hiking clothes, and in their place was a suit of slightly too-large pajamas, decorated with what looked like little cartoon snails.

His fingers shook as he grabbed at the material. What was going on? Where was he, and more importantly, what had happened to him? This wasn't right. It simply wasn't–

 _Too fast_.

Grandt took a deep breath to slow his heartbeat. He couldn't break down. Not again. His body simply couldn't stand it, and he knew that a single shock could send him straight to an early grave.

No, now was the time to think rationally. Had something recently happened that would have left him in such a position? His head felt fine, so that ruled out alcohol, and he couldn't recall anything beyond the previous night. Unless, of course…

No. _No_. That couldn't have actually happened. Surely he hadn't fallen down the mountain. The creatures from his dream – what were they, a flower and a goat? – wouldn't have left him be. Not like that. Not if they wanted his SOUL. More importantly, the monsters beneath Mt. Ebott would never have granted him shelter or clothing. No, it was simply absurd.

But at the same time, he couldn't deny how realistic that dream had felt – nor could he deny that he had, in fact, wanted to climb Mt. Ebott. Its details were too memorable for him to pretend that it hadn't at least been incredibly lucid. He remembered writing his granddaughter that note. He remembered packing his rucksack. He remembered climbing the side of the mountain. He remembered the rain, the strange figure with the gun, and then…

And then…

"I fell…"

The words felt heavy. Leaden. They rang loudly in his head, like bells. He _had_ fallen. He'd fallen deep into the darkness, and that beastly flower had nearly killed him. Something had stopped it, though, and then a voice had spoken. It had spoken to _him_. Then that Boss Monster had emerged from the darkness, and he'd charged it.

His memories stopped there, but given that he was still alive – not to mention apparently healthy and clothed –, _someone_ must have given him help. It was well-known that the monsters in the Underground were supposed to be kind, but Grandt still doubted that they'd willingly help a human less than a hundred years after the war. It made no sense, especially if they were trying to free themselves.

What about a human, though? Maybe one of those children who'd climbed the mountain had survived for long enough that they could give him a hand. Yes, that made sense.

But then if that was the case, why did that theory sound so wrong? Grandt knew that of the five who had vanished atop Mt. Ebott, all of them were teenagers at the oldest (he distinctly recalled that the eldest had been seventeen, while the youngest was a mere ten). It had been a long time, but even so, most of them would still be children.

It only stood to reason that one of them had saved him. But if that was the case, why was the room so childish? A box of toys, a box of shoes… Why, even the dresser was filled with dusty clothing that was too small for a man of his height. And if his savior had been one of the fallen humans, didn't it make sense that their home wouldn't be so nice? They had only been gone for a few years, after all. He doubted the monsters were so kind that they'd let a human run free and build a house of their own. It'd make more sense to just rip out the human's SOUL then and there.

Grandt ran a hand over his head, confused beyond words. None of this made sense. The facts contradicted one another, creating a mess of ideas that simply didn't mesh. It was a stew of mismatched foods, a pot roast without the meat. As long as he lacked the essential information, Grandt couldn't be sure where he was or why he was there.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Grandt ceased all movement. He reached for the light to shut it off, eyes now locked on the entrance, but he couldn't seem to find the switch again. His breath had quickened. It took all his effort to keep his heartbeat down to a reasonable rate. His fingers played over the lamp, ultimately doing little more than pushing it slightly to the side in his panic.

The doorknob turned and clicked, and something pushed the door inward. A figure stepped through.

It was the Boss Monster.

It was tall and goat-like, dressed in a purple robe that was covered in symbols. Its very being exuded power and regality.

Any of Grandt's attempts to keep calm instantly failed, replaced by a cold and sudden rush of fear. His breath caught in his throat.

The Boss Monster looked at him for a long moment, its eyes indicating surprise. And then it… smiled? "Oh, you woke up!" it – she? The voice was distinctly feminine, and its dress and overall appearance matched that idea as well – said. "And it seems that you have made a full recovery, as well. I am glad to know that you are alright."

Grandt blinked. "I…" he managed. "What…?"

The Boss Monster stared at him for a long moment before realization dawned on her. "Ah, I am very sorry!" she said. "You must be very confused right now. My name is Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins." After a moment's pause, she added, "I spend my days wandering the Ruins, looking to find humans who may have fallen down."

"Did you… Did you save me?" Grandt asked, struggling to comprehend what was going on. He pulled himself away from the room's corner and moved slightly closer towards her. Not too close, though.

"Yes," she answered. "By the time I found you, the shock of your fall must have triggered some sort of heart failure. I did all that I could to stabilize you."

"'Stabilize'? Then you… They have defibrillators down here?"

Toriel raised an eyebrow. "'Defibrillators'? I… cannot say that I have ever heard of such things before."

"What?" Grandt asked. "Then how did you–?" He paused and placed a hand over his beard. "Ah, I see. Magic."

"Yes, that is right," Toriel said. "I used a few very minor lightning spells to make your heart beat again." Then she glanced around a bit nervously. "But I do not think this is a very good place to talk about these things. It is a bit too… cramped. Here, if you will follow me, I will tell you everything that happened."

Grandt took a moment to answer. He was hesitating, mostly out of fear. It was hard to just accept the words of someone he'd only just met – someone who could secretly be truly evil beneath that compassionate face –, and yet…

He stepped forward a bit, still rubbing his mustache and beard. "Alright," he said. "Then please, by all means, lead the way."

"You are not frightened?"

He continued walking forward until he was directly in front of her. Toriel stood a little more than half a head taller than him, but that kind, motherly look in her eyes kept her from being too intimidating. It almost completely dampened the fact that she looked incredibly powerful. Were it not for that, he wouldn't have bothered to go near her.

But as it stood, she simply seemed to radiate sincerity. It was like her SOUL was made from pure, concentrated compassion. She'd saved his life with nothing to gain in return. What reason could Grandt have not to trust her? If she had truly wanted him dead, there was no way he'd be alive right now.

"I am," he admitted. "I'm always frightened." Frightened that his heart would burn out at any time, frightened that his granddaughter would be left alone, frightened that the man who'd stolen everything from him would return. "But no matter what happens, I can't stay still. I just can't."

Toriel frowned down at him for a moment, though not unkindly. "I understand," she said. "Very well, then. Follow me. Oh, but do not strain yourself! You are still recovering, after all."

As they were walking out of the room, though, she suddenly turned around. "Ah, that reminds me. I am sorry that I did not ask you this before, but… what is your name?"

There was another pause.

Then Grandt smiled. "My name is Grandt Journa," he said, extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Toriel."

Toriel accepted his hand, smiling back. "And you, too. Now tell me," Toriel added as they exited the bedroom, "you do not dislike snail pie, do you, Grandt?"

* * *

 **AN: Because I did not take the time to point this out in the prologue, this story obviously will spoil the plot of** _ **Undertale**_ **. I'm presuming that everyone reading it has at least played the game for themselves, but if not, I recommend staying away from this story.**

 **In addition, as I said last time, I will be taking many,** _ **many**_ **liberties with canon throughout this story. Of course, the fact that it takes place several years before the actual game (the exact amount of years is a spoiler), some events will be a bit different than you all may be used to. However, the core plot will be at least similar, so don't expect me to go too far off the rails just yet.**

 **Edit: As of October 25, 2016, this chapter has been edited. I have no idea how I let this pass the first time around. It was incredibly messy, and a lot of lines either had to be cut or completely rewritten. Namely, many of Toriel's lines needed to be cleaned up, and most of the descriptions needed to be toned down to sound less pretentious. I also made a few lines of dialogue more specific - namely, Toriel didn't mention her use of lightning magic to make Grandt's heart go back to normal in the original chapter -, which should hopefully make this chapter a bit easier to read.**


	3. Chapter 1-2

"It's… It's not as bad as I thought," Grandt said, choking down his latest bite of snail pie. "It certainly has a… _texture_ to it."

Perhaps it was simply because he had never been a fan of snail – or of any sort of seafood, for that matter –, but every time Grandt took a bite of that disgusting pie, he started to tear up. It slid down his throat, wet and slimy and tasting like something that had been left out in the sun for too long.

"I will admit that snail pie is not for everyone," Toriel said as she dipped her fork back into the crust, "but for my part, I can never get enough!"

Grandt shook his head, setting his fork down on his plate. He looked over at Toriel, seated to his left on the table's end, and said, "It's still hard to believe that you carried me all the way here on your own."

"Well, I could not just leave you there, could I? The Underground is dangerous for someone unaccustomed to it."

"Oh no, I'm not arguing with you. I'm just shocked, that's all." Grandt sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. It was terribly high up, but it did its job. "I've always thought that monsters must hate humans."

Toriel paused mid-bite, lowering her fork slowly and turning her gaze down at the table. "I would not go that far," she murmured. "I would not say that monsters _hate_ humans. But… you are correct to be fearful. Here in the Ruins, you are less likely to come to harm, but outside…" She trailed off, then picked up her fork and stabbed it back into her pie. "Well, that is something else altogether."

"And here I was hoping it'd be easy to leave…" Grandt muttered, turning his gaze back to Toriel.

"Grandt, I am sorry. I cannot permit you to leave this place."

Grandt sat up quickly. "What do you mean? If I stay down here too much longer, then I'll–"

"Let me finish!" Toriel said, turning her head to look at him suddenly. She stopped for a moment, looking shocked, and then she covered her mouth. "I-I am very sorry. I did not mean to snap at you like that."

There was a moment's pause before Grandt pushed his chair back and stood up. His legs were shaking again. He reached for his half-finished pie and picked it up. His hand shook, too.

"You cannot leave," Toriel said quietly. "You are still not stabilized, after all, and I…" She paused, taking a moment to let out a long sigh. "Do you know how many humans have fallen down over these past several years?"

"Five," Grandt answered automatically. "Yes, I know."

"Five… Yes, there have been five, have there not…?" Toriel grimaced. "Grandt, of those five humans, do you know how many are still alive?" After several seconds of silence, she just shook her head slowly. "It is not an easy choice to make, believe me. But that is just how it is. They fall, they leave, and they die."

Grandt stopped, leaning against his chair for support. "And I suppose that my case is especially drastic…" he murmured. "I can't just stay down here forever, though. Isn't there any way I can change your mind?"

"I am sorry."

That was the only response that Grandt needed to have his answer. He placed his free hand on his forehead and sighed to himself. It should have been obvious that she wouldn't budge. In that case, there was nothing he could do. He didn't know the Ruins well enough to search for an exit without a guide, and he was in no condition to start looking. A single misstep or surprise encounter would be the end of him.

"Is there anything I _can_ do?" he asked after a moment.

Toriel just kept staring ahead in an effort to avoid his gaze. "In a few days, I would be glad to give you a chance to look around the Ruins. They are quite small, and I do not want to leave you alone for too long, but… Well, there is not much else that I can imagine you would enjoy."

Grandt bit back the obvious response. The obvious response being, of course, "I would _enjoy_ being able to leave this place." Even disregarding how much time he had left, he worried that his granddaughter would be left alone without him to watch over her. He could always tell Toriel about her, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. It wouldn't do to make her feel even guiltier.

He sighed again to himself. It was true that she had a point, and Grandt knew that he was being stubborn, but his fears were getting the better of him.

"May I ask where your kitchen is?" he said, still holding that shifting mass of snails and crust.

Toriel gestured behind her, and Grandt stepped in the given direction with a quick word of thanks. He entered the kitchen, holding still holding the barely touched pie in one hand, and he looked over the area to see where he could throw it out. After searching for a few minutes, he found it hidden beneath the countertop and began the process of pouring his gelatinous food into its hungry maw.

Then he paused, seeing for the first time what lay beneath the crust. It was a filling of some sort, with a familiar dark color to it. Grandt slowly dipped his fork into the murky depths, pulling a bit of the substance out of its squirming prison. Then, even more slowly then that, he placed it between his lips.

His eyes widened in shock at the sudden rush of flavor. _Good_ flavor. How in the world did something so wretched have such a sweet core? Grandt took another cautious bite, just to be sure that he hadn't been hallucinating. That same sweet flavor hit him again, and he felt for a moment as if he were about to cry.

No wonder Toriel loved this confection so much. Every bite was heavenly. It was like drinking a fine wine, but the flavor and make reflected something more akin to a melted dark chocolate. Nonetheless, he could tell it was alcoholic, and given how his life had been going thus far, Grandt needed a good drink.

He finished the filling and pushed the outer crust into the garbage. It had not been enough to get him fully intoxicated, but Grandt could feel the alcohol's effects even still.

After a moment's pause, he stepped out from the kitchen and sat down at the table once more. Toriel regarded him with a small nod and a smile, but she seemed to be only halfway done with her slice.

"You have to give me that recipe sometime," Grandt said, breaking the silence. "Especially that filling – tell me, what sort of wine was that?"

Toriel blinked and set her fork down. "O-oh, well…" She tried to disguise her shock by clearing her throat. "I must say, nobody has ever been so curious about that before." She paused suddenly and turned to look him the eyes. "Wait, you could tell that it was a wine?"

Grandt smiled. "Well, I just assumed that was the real point of the crust. Some sort of way to… to quickly ferment that wine inside, I think. Of course, I can hardly guess at your secret, but I must say that mixing in the chocolate really brought out the flavor." He stopped himself to take a breath. "I've tried similar techniques, but they usually don't come out half as good as that. They always wind up either too goopy or too watery for my tastes."

Toriel regarded him with wide, curious eyes. Her mouth was straight, but at the same time it seemed to be curving a bit upward, as though she was repressing the urge to break out into a large smile.

"You are a chef?" she asked.

"Well, I experiment from time to time." Grandt grinned, resting his head on his veiny fist. "When you've lived as long as me, you get a lot of chances to just play around and see what happens."

"Is that so?" Toriel was leaning forward now, eyes shining. She seemed just as eager to hear about Grandt's kitchen escapades as he was to talk about them.

He leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah. There've been a lot of times in my life where I've just had to improvise and find out what tastes the best." His grin grew, and he turned his head back down to face Toriel. "I like to think I've gotten pretty good at it."

It was a strange way to mend the argument, Grandt had to admit, but at the same time he hardly wanted to be on bad terms with the one person willing to give him help. If his lifetime and love of cooking finally gave him a benefit beyond having something that didn't taste like a raw boot, then it would have been well worth the effort. Not to mention that he _really_ wanted that pie recipe.

He'd planted the bait. Now it was time to reel in the hook.

"I'd be willing to show you, if you want," he said, before quickly adding, "You know, as thanks for all that you've done for me."

"You do not need to do it because of that," Toriel said, waving a hand in front of her face. "I helped you because you needed help, not for my own benefit."

Grandt stood up slowly. His legs still shook, but now it was much less noticeable – at least, it was in his mind.

"Toriel," he said seriously, "you took me in, fed me, helped me recover, and have been nothing but kind to me."

"You have known me for less than an hour," she pointed out. Clearly she was just too stubborn to accept her own kindness.

He started walking away, and he heard Toriel call after him. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"Your kitchen," Grandt said without turning back.

"But were you not just in there?"

"Sure. But this time, it's for a much more important reason."

* * *

Grandt emerged roughly half an hour later, carrying a pair of plates, one in each hand. It had taken him quite some time to get used to monster ingredients, given how they were somehow composed entirely of magic, but he believed that he had learned how to use them well enough. Eggs were still eggs regardless of what they were made from.

The cooking process had been a bit difficult as well, but thankfully it seemed that Toriel cooked without magic. Or at least, her stove worked without needing magic to operate it. It was an outdated model, but that was no major issue to someone who had used a wide variety of cookeries throughout his life. Grandt figured that, in the worst case scenario, the eggs would come out a bit burnt. They didn't.

Instead, they were golden and perfect, just as he was used to. While he wasn't one to really brag about his accomplishments, Grandt made a notable exception for his cooking. After all, he believed that he was old enough to be slightly rude about _some_ things. As long as he balanced it out with kindness, it didn't matter all that much.

He set the two plates down at the table, grinning inwardly as he watched Toriel's eyes widen at the sight and the _smell_. It was enough to have made a full man hungry.

Grandt took his seat and picked up his fork with trembling fingers. The anticipation was too great for him, even though he knew exactly what she would say.

"These are fantastic," Toriel murmured, staring down at her plate in awe, and then she turned her head to look at him. "You have to give me the recipe sometime, especially for this texture… How do you get them to be so fluffy?"

"It took a long time," Grandt answered, digging in. "Several years of my life went into learning how to properly scramble an egg. Of course, that's what really got me into cooking in the first place."

"The challenge of it?" Toriel asked, her face breaking out into a grin.

Grandt nodded. "That's right. It's like those people who love climbing, so they keep climbing bigger and bigger mountains until they get to the highest point in the world." He laughed. "Well, I'm no mountain climber, but I certainly want to reach a pinnacle of my own."

"I am almost certain you qualify as a mountain climber…" Toriel said.

There was a pause as Grandt realized what she was implying. "Ah… right." He sighed and took a bite of his food. "Though I'd hardly call Ebott 'difficult.' There's actually a pretty easy path near the bottom that doesn't really involve much climbing at all. Most amateurs could make it to the peak without too much difficulty. It's just that nobody wants to."

"Then why did _you_ climb it?"

Grandt froze. He slowly set down his fork, and then he once again turned his gaze towards the ceiling. "It's complicated."

Toriel looked down. "I-I am sorry if that question upsets you. It is just that every other human who has fallen down into the Underground has had some sort of reason for why they climbed the mountain."

"They were all children," Grandt said. "I can't imagine they really thought it through." He took a deep breath. "Toriel, tell me something."

"Yes?"

"Did they ever tell you why they climbed Mt. Ebott? The real reason why?"

There was another long, noticeable pause as Toriel seemed to struggle with the answer. "No," she said at last. "No, they never did. But at the same time, I could tell that there was more to it than just a want for adventure."

"I see." Grandt stopped and shakily reached down for his fork. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dredge up any painful memories."

But if Grandt were to be truly honest, he was glad to hear that news of the surface hadn't yet reached the Underground. It was a silly, petty thing, but the last thing he wanted was for the monsters to celebrate humanity's current situation – and especially that of the nation that had sealed them away underground.

"No. Do not apologize."

Toriel's words suddenly brought him back to reality. He blinked and hastily ate a piece of egg in order to avoid looking as though he hadn't been paying attention.

"It is fine," Toriel said after a moment. "I have been making these conversations uncomfortable. I am sorry for that."

"No, that's not true."

"It is completely true." Toriel sighed to herself. "Grandt, do you know why I stay down here and patrol the Ruins? If I so chose, I could be living out in the rest of the Underground, but I do not want to." Her shoulders slumped. "I want to protect the humans who fall down here. And… I simply cannot bring myself to leave this place. Not without a proper cause."

There was a long pause. He wanted to tell Toriel that he could protect himself, or he wanted to speak about his heart's state, or he wanted to tell her about his granddaughter and how terrified he was for her… but he couldn't. The words were caught in his throat. Every concept, every word, was as impossible to grasp as dust in the wind.

Grandt slowly picked up his plate. "I-I'll just head back to my room, then. Good night, Toriel."

Toriel did not reply. She simply nodded her head, leaving Grandt to shuffle away slowly and wordlessly in the oppressive silence.

* * *

 **AN:** **Exposition, ho! It's my first dialogue-heavy chapter, so I'm sorry for the lack of any real descriptions, but I'll try to make sure most later chapters are better in that regard. It's just very difficult when two characters are sitting at a table for its entire length.**

 **Edit: This chapter has received moderately-heavy edits as of October 30, 2016. Most of these edits went into fixing Toriel's characterization and making her more accurate to her in-game personality - that is, I removed many of her contractions and changed a few pieces of dialogue to remove anything that could be seen as slang. There were a few edits to the narration, as well, but for the most part it was leagues better than it was in the previous chapter. I'd like to express my thanks to Ringcaat for giving me multiple suggestions about how to better write Toriel as a character! Those suggestions and ideas played a major role in making this chapter better than it was before.**


	4. Chapter 1-3

The next several days passed slowly and uninterestingly. True to her word, Toriel kept Grandt within the confines of her home until she could be certain he'd recovered. She had, at least, given him permission to cook, which he had taken full advantage of. If he was going to be stuck inside for days on end, it only made sense that he taught himself some of the monsters' cuisine.

Unfortunately, Grandt was disappointed to discover that beyond their ingredients being made of magic, monsters ate food that was almost identical to that of humans. At least, Toriel did, but she could have very well been an outlier. Although the whole "snail pie" thing threw that into serious consideration.

When Grandt wasn't cooking, he found himself sitting in the living room and reading one of the hundreds of dog-eared books sitting on Toriel's shelf. Some of them were simple history books, but many were fascinating stories or novels that he couldn't help but devour. They wormed their way into his head, just as stories of the surface had once so long ago, and remained buried beneath his subconscious even past their initial reading.

The rest were all joke books. For whatever reason, they were just as worn as all the others, with certain passages circled in red and with notes and variations written in the margins. Grandt couldn't help but smile to himself whenever he read one of the awkward rewrites, or when he noticed the doodles in the corners (usually they were of snails, but occasionally a skeleton sneaked its way onto the pages).

It was when he was reading one such book, chuckling to himself beside the fireplace, that Toriel returned from her latest errand. Her arms were filled with paper bags that, in turn, were filled with groceries.

Grandt glanced up to her from his position and smiled under his beard. "Oh, you're back already?" he asked blithely. "Do you want me to cook tonight?"

Toriel stared at him for a long moment, seemingly considering something, before she smiled back and shook her head. "No, I should be fine. Besides, I cannot help but feel that you have earned a break."

"You make it sound like cooking isn't fun," Grandt replied, closing the book and standing up straight. "Honestly, it's no trouble at all if you need me to do anything around here." He laughed. "God knows I'll go mad if I have to sit still anymore."

"You can never be too sure," Toriel said, setting down her groceries on the nearby table. "I do not want you to risk straining yourself."

Grandt sighed and leaned his arm against the chair. "I hardly think standing in a kitchen'll be any worse for me than sitting here. Unless you have some ulterior motive, of course."

"I am absolutely shocked you would imagine such a thing," Toriel said, although she didn't sound or look particularly convincing.

"Mm, I suppose you're right," Grandt replied, turning his attention back toward the joke book. "After all, I _am_ just a silly old man."

Toriel picked up the groceries again, chuckling to herself. "If you are silly for being old, I must be completely senile. Now, you are not allergic to anything, are you?"

Grandt paused, considering. "No, I don't believe so. Why, what are you thinking of making?"

"Oh, just something nice," Toriel said, avoiding his question as she started toward the kitchen. "I realized that I should really make _you_ something for once." She stopped for a moment, her smile slowly falling. "Especially since there is something very important I have to speak with you about."

Grandt took a moment to answer. "And what is that?"

"It is…" Toriel trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. "I will tell you later, if you do not mind."

"Sure," Grandt said, attempting to hide his confusion. "But are you certain you don't need my help–?"

"I am baking," Toriel replied flatly.

Grandt blinked. "Oh. Well, then, carry on," he said as he sat back down and reopened the joke book. "Certainly wouldn't want to light anything else on fire in there."

Toriel chuckled. "Yes, that is about what I thought," she said before she stepped into the kitchen, leaving Grandt on his own.

After he was certain she was out of sight, Grandt let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair. He shut the book slowly and set it on the chair's arm.

It was true that Toriel's home was lovely, and she was being far too kind to him for him to have any true complaints, but Grandt still could not deny that even the most comfortable prison was still a prison regardless. His chest no longer ached constantly, but still she requested he stay. And for what? So that he would not be slaughtered in the outside world? What did that matter to him?

He didn't have enough time to waste it away underground, drinking wine and cooking and reading silly books. One or two days of waiting was fine, but he had spent several days (he couldn't even guess the number, mostly because he was too scared to look at the calendar) confined to the same few rooms, unable to leave even to the safe (well, relatively safe) Ruins. At this rate, he would die well before he could reach the surface. Well before he could see his granddaughter. Well before he could make sure she was safe.

 _Now or never, never or now._

Grandt took a deep breath, glanced to the area around him – to the beautiful shelves, to the simple book at his side, to the wood-paneled floor, and to everything that simply screamed "home" –, and made up his mind.

Toriel was wonderful. But it was time for Grandt to bid her farewell.

He stood quickly, penning a quick note of both thanks and apology in one of the book's unmarked margins before placing it, open but facedown, on the kitchen table. Grandt adjusted his clothing, which Toriel had mended for him not a few days ago. She hadn't been able to fix up his jacket, but he doubted he'd need it. And with one last wistful glance toward the kitchen, he stepped out to the foyer.

Trepidation quickly caught him, and every step Grandt took felt leaden. Was he truly in the right to leave now? To simply abandon her with only a note for explanation?

No, Grandt decided, he was not in the right. She had taken him in, nursed him back to health, given him food… She had treated him wonderfully. But that didn't matter.

If she had a grandchild, or even just a child, he was certain that she would have done the same.

"Goodbye," he said softly, before turning his gaze toward the stairs reaching into the basement.

Toriel had told him not to go down, as the stairs led into the rest of the Underground. She'd told him that all who exited the Ruins would never be allowed back in. So be it. If that was the only price he had to pay, then he would pay it gladly. He had no possessions there, no items to claim.

Grandt breathed out a long, deep breath. He stepped forward to the top of the stairs. There were no more words. All that mattered now was that he took action. His steps still felt heavy, but they became progressively easier until he was practically running down the short flights to the long, dark tunnel leading out.

Now was his choice. Never could rot.

He had been at the bottom of those stairs before, but every time there seemed to be some sort of magical barrier keeping him from moving too far. It seemed to only be active whenever Toriel was out of the house or sleeping, presumably just to make sure he never traversed the basement. But now that she was doing neither of those things, he could exit with ease.

He practically sprinted through the darkness. When the path suddenly turned sharply to the left, he did as well. Grandt's breath was quick, but not labored; he had run more than this in his life. A simple sprint would hopefully not kill him.

Grandt came upon a tall door, which jutted from the ground in such a way that he was certain it was the Ruins' exit. Without a second thought, he pushed it open and stepped through, coming to a stop as soon as it clicked shut behind him.

His heart didn't ache. His legs didn't shake. Instead, Grandt stood resolutely, every bone and tendon in his body operating as though he were young again from the sheer and sudden rush of adrenaline.

He looked into the darkness before him and gave a small smile. "I'll be there soon, Frisk," he said quietly. "I promise."

Then he began walking again, but this time his steps were slower. They were filled with more conviction and determination than before, as Grandt stepped forward into what he hoped would be his eventual freedom.

* * *

Toriel stepped from the kitchen, carrying a large butterscotch-cinnamon pie in her hands. It was to be her gift to Grandt, as thanks for all the cooking he had done recently – and, secretly, as thanks for giving her someone to speak with again.

She was somewhat surprised to find that he was no longer sitting in the armchair, but she quickly brushed it off as him having simply gone back to his room or something so innocent. In the past few days, he had often wandered around the house when not reading or sleeping. It was not a surprise that he would go and wander off.

In fact, that was part of why Toriel had been so desperate – and, admittedly, nervous – to speak with him. She figured it was a good time for him to branch out to at least the main part of the Ruins. It'd be better than just sitting around or cooking all day, at least.

"Grandt!" she called, setting the pie down on the kitchen table. "It is ready!"

It was then that Toriel noticed the open joke book lying facedown on the kitchen table. "What is this…?" she murmured, picking it up. It was unlike Grandt to leave books out. Usually, he would at least make sure to get it back on the shelf, if not in the exact spot he'd taken it from.

The fact that he'd just left it there sitting out in the open piqued her curiosity. Toriel picked it up, making sure not to turn the page, and glanced over it slowly. She stared at it for a while, not quite understanding whether or not there was anything important (beyond a few jokes she snickered at, of course), when she noticed the small, neat writing in a large margin on the page's side.

 _Dear Toriel,_

 _I'm sorry that I have to tell you about my departure this way, but there's nothing else I could've done. Suffice to say, I don't have the time to sit around anymore. If I wait any longer, I'll never escape._

 _There's someone waiting for me on the surface. My granddaughter. I hope you understand._

 _I'm sorry that I never got the chance to truly thank you for your kindness. If we meet again, I'll try to make it up to you as best I can. I don't know what could possibly make up for my need to run away, but believe me, I will do whatever I can._

 _Thank you for everything you've done for me._

 _Goodbye,_

 _Grandt Journa_

The book slipped from Toriel's fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. She leaned against the table. Her mind swam. Her breath quickened.

He had left. Grandt had run away.

How could she have let that happen? He was supposed to be in her care! How could she be so irresponsible that–?

No. No! There was still time!

Toriel broke out into a sprint, racing out to the foyer and down the stairs to the Ruins' exit as though her legs were alight.

An old man like him would never last in the Underground. Asgore would tear him to shreds. Could he even fight? The Royal Guard would murder him in mere _seconds_!

 _He doesn't stand a chance._

 _He's going to die._

These thoughts pounded against Toriel's skull as she ran, faster and faster, desperate to find and save Grandt before he did something monumentally stupid. Her every step felt light yet compounded by heaviness, her breath caught in her throat. She was terrified but determined but despairing.

She came to a sudden stop as the door to the Ruins' exit came in sight. "What… What is the meaning of this?!" she cried, staring at it in complete shock.

The door was covered in vines. Long, green, thorny tendrils of plant matter encircled it, holding it closed. They shot up from the ground, from the walls, from the ceiling – from everywhere that could have even the smallest amount of dirt.

Toriel grit her teeth and took a step back, channeling fire magic to burn the vines away. The flames struck the door, searing it with blue and red and yellow, and the vines turned to ashes in seconds.

Then they regrew.

Toriel stared in shock, unable to fully comprehend what had just occurred. This was not Grandt's work, surely. He wasn't a sorcerer or a magician by any means, so why was this happening?

She shook her head and shot another blast of fire, followed by another and another still. Every time, however, the vines simply grew back in place. It was almost as though they were mocking her attempts to break through.

But every time they came back, Toriel felt her mind wander to more gruesome fates that Grandt could face if she did not save him. Asgore came to mind first, of course, but then she thought of Sans and how dangerous he could be if he truly cared to try.

If she had even a moment longer, Toriel would have warned him about Grandt. If he had only consulted with her before he left…!

Fire after fire, ashes after ashes, vines after vines. It was a seemingly endless cycle, and Toriel felt exhaustion soon take hold of her. Her breathing became heavier, her eyes grew heavier. Everything just seemed… heavy. The weights of fear and despair grew on Toriel's mind, burning through her determination slowly but surely.

Unfortunately, unlike the vines, it did not grow back.

* * *

Flowey watched from his perch in the darkness as the human went sprinting past. He could have killed him then quite easily, but something in the back of his mind told him not to.

There was something that was just _fascinating_ about this human. It seemed there was a great weight upon his heart, and Flowey wanted to know just what it truly was. He wanted to take this weight and make it more, breaking down this human with his own brokenness until there was nothing left but an empty shell.

Yes, Flowey could reset at any time, but why bother with that when it would get him no closer to his goal? He would watch this man go through the Underground. He would watch him break and spill his guts. And then, only when there was no enjoyment left for him to rip from this man's heart, Flowey would slaughter him and steal his SOUL for himself.

Flowey giggled to himself at the thought. Yes, this would be a fun game, indeed.

* * *

 **AN:** _ **Bravely Second**_ **is a wonderful game. Don't play it if you're trying to keep a good writing schedule.**

 **EDIT: This chapter has been updated as of November 3, 2016. It didn't need as many fixes as the previous few chapters, but I edited some of the dialogue and narration to make it a bit less longwinded.**


	5. Chapter 2-1

**Chapter 2: Snow is Just Frozen Water**

The instant Grandt stepped out from the Ruins, the temperature dropped enormously. His breath was suddenly visible, and he crossed his arms reflexively to keep the cold from getting to them. Given that his current outfit was short-sleeved near his arms, it was hardly a surprise. At the very least, his hiking boots and pants helped to keep his feet and legs from going numb, but his torso wasn't half as lucky.

Grandt turned around for a moment and seriously contemplated returning to the Ruins – if only to take a moment to catch his breath, even –, but he quickly shook his head and looked back at the path.

It was a thin, narrow walkway, caked in ice and snow and sitting on the edge of a cliff. The drop down was so sheer that Grandt couldn't see the bottom, ending only in a vast expanse of darkness that seemed to stretch down to the planet's very core. He tried to push himself away from that drop, but the trees opposite it were so thin and so close together that it was impossible to squeeze between their trunks.

Thankfully, the path wasn't so narrow that Grandt had to press himself against those trees just to get across without falling to his death. The fact that a single misstep could result in him slipping into that darkness, however, did nothing to assuage his fears. If anything, it only made them more poignant, more evident, so Grandt slammed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

"Now or never, never or now," he murmured to himself. His legs were shaking, but he forced them under control.

As far as he knew, he was in enemy territory. Toriel had been kind, but would every monster be so benevolent? Grandt doubted it. They would not let him stand still, cowering on a cliff in fear of falling to his death. They would not give him levity, a chance to rest, a chance to catch his breath. They would be the ones pushing him in.

Toriel had warned him not to leave the Ruins. Perhaps the real reason was that she knew how perilous the trek out of the Underground would be. Perhaps she had been right.

 _No_ , Grandt thought viciously. She was not right. She couldn't be right. Even if the monsters of the Underground were so dangerous, he would push his way through to the end, no matter what it took. If he had to kill, he would. If he had to die, he would do that, too. It was better for him to die trying to see his granddaughter again than it was for him to sit still in a chair, waiting for his heart to give out.

Grandt opened his eyes slowly, took another deep breath, and stepped forward on the icy path. His legs were heavy, yes, but he was too determined to stay back any longer. Every step felt easier than the last, but unlike when he'd left the Ruins, they did not grow quicker or lighter. They remained even and uniform, but their force seemed to increase with each movement.

That same heaviness, that sense of carefulness, preceded every step he took. Still, it became easier. He felt more confident that he could make it. He felt as though he could escape this perilous cliff – long though it was, apparently – through willpower alone. Of course, part of that willpower was almost certainly due to the lack of any discernable threat.

Still, he continued walking. He could see that across the gap trees were growing on an adjacent ledge, some of which were taller and thicker than those on his side. They cast shadows across his section, darkening it with their leafless branches and making it more difficult for Grandt to determine where he should walk, but he walked on regardless.

Grandt's foot caught on something, causing him to nearly trip and fall before he grabbed at a nearby tree and regained his balance. He stood in place breathing heavily for a moment. His heart beat fast in his chest, but thankfully it didn't look like it was likely to cause another heart attack.

Grandt leaned up against the trees, letting himself sink down a bit as he regained his breath. He closed his eyes again, though this time more from weariness than from fear. His fingers twitched against the tree's bark. They were colder than before, somehow, and it seemed that his veins had turned even bluer. Or was that just his imagination?

He simply leaned there for what must have been several minutes. Slowly, Grandt opened his eyes, looking from one bit of darkness into another. He forced himself to stand up in spite of his trepidation, once again reminding himself to keep moving regardless of what happened.

Before he began walking, however, curiosity got the better of him, and Grandt turned around to see what had caught his foot. It was a simple tree branch, but it looked thick and heavy enough that very few people would be able to pick it up, much less move it. While it was half-buried in the snow, enough of it was free that it had still caught him.

"Go figure," he muttered to himself, running a hand over his bald and freezing head.

He would have found the whole thing comical if he wasn't so worried about falling into the abyss. Grandt cursed his own carelessness and promised himself that he would keep a closer watch on the path in front of him, no matter how dark it got.

Grandt turned around again, rubbing his arms as he stepped forward again. The snow and ice crunched beneath his boots, and in some places he sunk in quite deep, but he walked calmly regardless. The sooner he could find a refuge – a cave, a clearing, anywhere he could light a fire and feel safe to fall asleep – the more comfortable he would feel walking through the Underground.

He wasn't about to question why there was snow underground, why there was light underground, why there were trees underground. He already knew the answer could be chalked up to magic, especially with how bizarre the ecosystem could get when sufficient amounts of magical energy were involved. Of course, the light could be explained by the large amount of bright, shimmering crystals on the "ceiling" of the cavern, but the others could only really be explained by magic.

 _Actually, there probably is a scientific explanation for it_ , Grandt thought to himself as he continued walking. Maybe those crystals gave plants the nutrition they needed to grow, or maybe the denizens of the Undergound had just brought some tree saplings with them when they were banished. As for the snow, the air was so cold that he wouldn't be surprised if water dripped down from above and crystalized before it hit the ground.

It was certainly interesting, at least. Grandt was no scientist, but he still found matters such as that fascinating, and given that none of Toriel's books had really described much about the Underground's climes, he couldn't help but speculate. Besides, it helped him to get his mind off the most pressing issue: the fact that despite him appearing to be alone, it was very possible that monsters were lurking around every corner waiting to capture or kill him.

It was a sobering thought, and one that Grandt had no intention of lingering on, so he turned his mind back to the cavern and how interesting it all was. In fact, he wondered if there were any unique fruits or vegetables or other ingredients down here that he could use in his cooking. Surely there was at least–

There was a sudden snap behind Grandt and he froze. It was the sound of splintering – no, _shattering_ – wood. He whirled around quickly, only to find himself face to face with nothing.

No, not nothing. There was certainly something there, sitting on the snow and ice, and Grandt's breath caught in his throat as soon as he realized what it was.

The large, heavy piece of wood that had tripped him earlier was broken in half. Shards and pieces of wood were scattered across the ground, but the main branch had been broken with such a high amount of force that its two largest parts were buried even deeper in the snow, their sides facing up.

It hadn't been shattered; it had been crushed.

Grandt turned around quickly and began walking away faster, looking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he wasn't being followed. His steps gradually became faster, and his looks more frequent. For a while he saw nothing.

Then he did.

It was far back, but the figure walked toward him slowly. It was covered entirely in shadows, but its form was imposing enough that Grandt didn't care to see it any closer.

Grandt turned his head forward just so he wouldn't have to look at it anymore. He began running faster than before down the path, eyes fixed forward in a desperate attempt to escape his pursuer. His sunk deep into the snow, but he still pulled them out just to keep moving. Just to get himself away from that dark figure.

The path seemed to change up ahead, changing into a small bridge over a small gap, with a not-so-small arch of sorts sitting overtop it. Grandt ran toward it, hoping that it would somehow give him refuge, that it would give him safety, that it would let him _live_.

Then Grandt tripped. And this time, he wasn't able to regain his balance. He felt his head crack against the side of the arch. Then, everything became as dark as the abyss, and his mind wandered to a day he would never forget.

* * *

" _Is there a problem, sir?"_

" _No, there's no problem, Captain. I'm actually here to inform you that your squadron will be gaining a new soldier, effective tomorrow."_

" _A new soldier? That's unusual. I haven't gained a recruit in quite some time. Not many young men seem to be interested in joining my squad, anyhow. We don't really do that much fighting."_

" _Yes, well… This one's a special case."_

" _Really? If I may ask, sir… What do you mean?"_

" _It's better if you see it for yourself. Here – his files."_

" _Hmm…? Only sixteen? Major, isn't he too young?"_

" _That's part of it. Look at the section under that – where he was born, and where he was living up until seven years ago."_

" _Alright, let's see… Wh-what…? Wait, Major, you can't be serious! You mean this boy was the–?"_

* * *

Sans stared down at the unconscious human, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The human had tripped and hit his head on Papyrus's "barricade," as evidenced by the small bruises and cuts on his forehead.

Sans simply stood there for a moment. On one hand, the human was clearly incapacitated, so he wouldn't exactly be hard to kill right there, provided he wasn't dead already. Not to mention that he was old, so Sans could have snapped his neck even if he was awake. If Sans really wanted to, he could even just push the human over into the pit and grab his SOUL later.

On the other hand, the human was all the way down there on the ground, and Sans was standing and didn't want to bend over to check that the human was dead. Besides, he was old, and old people probably died when they hit their heads on hollow pieces of plastic designed to look like wood. And if not… Well, it wouldn't be hard to kill him when he woke up, right?

Deciding that this conclusion was definitely correct, Sans began to walk away, chuckling quietly to himself as he followed the path back to the Ruins.

After all, he'd promised the old lady he'd tell her some jokes today, and it was clear to him that this old guy was one of hers.

* * *

 **AN: There's a decent bit of foreshadowing in this chapter, but obviously that won't come into play for quite a while. Outside of that, however, I'm sorry about the chapter being posted a bit later than usual, and I'll try to make sure that I get them out sooner from now on.**


	6. Chapter 2-2

When his consciousness returned, Grandt found himself lying facedown in the snow with a minor headache. His arms were numb, but he forced movement in them regardless, if only to get out of the snow. Once he'd finished pushing himself up, he leaned his back up against the arch and took a few minutes to breathe. His clothes were soaked, his face was still vaguely numb, and his arms had only just recently thawed out.

Grandt grabbed one of his boots, pulled it off, and shook out the excess snow and water. Though it exposed some of his leg to the cold, he reasoned that it was better than to let his foot freeze over. He needed that to get home, after all.

After repeating the process with his other boot, Grandt wiped the snow from his pants and shirt, rubbing his arms together in an effort to warm them up. Mentally, he cursed himself once again for his carelessness; the fact that the creature had left him alone had been pure luck, and he was–

Grandt suddenly froze – pardon the pun – and looked down the path in both directions rapidly. Had his pursuer truly left? It looked like it was gone, but how could he be certain?

He immediately decided that he couldn't sit still any longer, as waiting in this place was tantamount to suicide. Either the monsters got him or the cold did, and Grandt didn't find either of those options appealing.

Grandt used one of his hands to steady himself against the arch as he stood up slowly, using the other to wipe water from his brow. Thankfully, the numbness in his arms had completely gone away, allowing him to move them with impunity, and his legs responded in kind.

Soon Grandt was standing up completely, back against the arch as he let out a quiet sigh. He was freezing, and soaked, and tired, and his heart was as bad as ever, but he was alive. He could at least be thankful for that much. That thankfulness allowed him a few moments of rest against that arch, catching his breath and mentally weighing his options.

Obviously he had to keep going. The door to the Ruins was locked, and he couldn't stay in one place for too long or he would certainly die. In that case, there was nothing he could do but keep walking forward.

Grandt pushed himself away from the arch, stumbling a bit before fully regaining his balance. He glanced back behind him to make sure he was safe, and he was satisfied to see nothing. Then, looking forward again, he passed beneath the arch and over the bridge that spanned the small gap. He didn't dare to look down as he stepped over it, even as it shook a bit beneath him; he had to keep walking, and that was all that mattered.

Eventually the path seemed to change up ahead. The cliff face was still as steep as ever, but the trees gradually moved further away from it. Grandt certainly found it gratifying to not have to watch his every step anymore, at least, but the layout of the area was somewhat odd.

There was what looked like some sort of stand, complete with snow on its roof. Was it some sort of guard station, or was it perhaps merely somewhere for some unfortunate businessman to hawk his wares? Honestly, Grandt couldn't tell, partially because nobody was manning it at the moment.

 _And all the better for it,_ he thought to himself, looking over his surroundings closer. If it really was a guard station, he was lucky that its occupant was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it was just unused. Hadn't Toriel said that very few people left or entered the Ruins anymore? If so, it only stood to reason to assume that such a stand would be abandoned.

But at the same time, that made no sense. It had clearly seen recent maintenance, given that there were no signs of decay or rot along its wooden surface, the counter was completely devoid of dust, and the snow was not piled high enough on the roof for it not to have been cleared off recently. In that case, however, it begged the question: why was there a stand so nearby the Ruins? And why was it empty?

Grandt thought about it deeper, but nothing really came to mind. Unless the Ruins were some sort of tourist destination, it really made no sense to have a guard station out here. Maybe it was here just in case the doors ever opened, but in that case, why bother to man it daily? Was whoever ordered it built really so desperate to make sure they knew if someone had left?

It was peculiar, but Grandt realized that he was getting nowhere with that line of reasoning, so he moved on to his other question. Why _was_ the station empty? Perhaps the guards were changing shifts at the moment, but at the same time, Grandt highly doubted he could be so lucky as that. Even assuming that was the case, why would the guards not meet at the station first? They were effectively leaving a blind spot otherwise, and Grandt knew from experience that doing so was incredibly dangerous.

No, there was almost certainly some other explanation for it. There had to be. It made no sense otherwise. Perhaps it really was just some stand – a food stand or something – and its owner had gone home for the day.

 _No, that doesn't make any sense_ , Grandt thought to himself. Why would anyone open a shop by the Ruins? And more importantly, why would it be so well maintained? It made no sense at all.

 _Unless the guard's been close by all along._

Grandt suddenly stopped in place, hand stuck on the counter as his breath leapt to his throat. A horrible thought just occurred to him, and now he was desperately trying to rationalize it as false.

 _That thing that chased me–_

 _It was close to here, too–_

 _Does that mean it–_

 _It's here–_

 _It knows I'm here–_

 _Oh my God it knows I'm here oh my God it's here with me–_

Grandt's heart momentarily stopped as he heard footsteps from nearby. Thinking quickly, he jumped over the counter and crouched on the other side of the stand, holding his head to the floor. His breaths had become shallow, quiet, filled with the terror of an animal being stalked by some vicious predator.

He ignored the bottles of ketchup and mustard, the oddly shaped lamp, the small pile of trading cards. He could hear the footsteps getting louder. Closer. Closer still.

His hands were clenched so hard his knuckles began to turn white. His legs shook, but to a controlled level. His eyes were clamped shut. His heart–

 _Too fast._

Grandt tried to breathe slower, more controlled breaths, but the sudden sense of terror made it difficult to lower his pulse. Any sound he made could get him killed by whatever was approaching. He pressed himself even closer to the floor, gritting his teeth to avoid making any sound.

"Sans!"

Grandt nearly jumped as he heard the shout from the other side of the station. It was an odd sort of voice – frantic, but more excited than frightened, and overlaid with irritation. It was the voice he would have heard from a child trying to scold another child, from someone who was trying far too hard to be mature.

He didn't let his guard down; whether a creature was mature or not made no difference in how quickly it could snap someone's neck. If anything, he feared that a less mature adversary – complete with a less mature view of right and wrong – would be far more dangerous. No, he was staying down no matter what.

"Sans!" the cry came again, this time sounding much more annoyed. "Come on out, you lazybones!"

Another set of footsteps, this time much slower, more deliberate. "'Sup, bro?"

This voice was different. It was slower and more jocular, and it was clear that this speaker was far more casual than the other.

Grandt almost wanted to look over the counter, but the chances of being seen were far too great for him to risk it. Instead, he contented himself with his current position, simply trying to get what bits of information he could amidst his inner terror.

"You know what's 'up,' Brother," said the first speaker accusingly. "It's been eight days and you still haven't recalibrated. Your. Puzzles! You just hang around outside your station! What are you even doing?!"

"Eh, nothin'," came the reply.

" _Nothing_?!"

"Yep."

"But what if a human comes through here?!"

"I dunno. That gate of yours'll probably stop 'em."

" _That gate does nothing_!"

"Hey, don't be so hard on it."

Grandt heard the slow, deliberate footsteps again, this time getting louder as the first speaker came closer to the station.

"B-but Sans–!"

"Hey, stop worryin' so much. I mean, if a human _really_ came through here—" there was a pointed slam on the station's counter, causing it to rock slightly "—I'd be the first to know."

Grandt forced himself not to look up. Did the second speaker know he was there? No, surely not. That was ridiculous. Unless, of course, he looked down.

The other speaker let out an exaggerated sigh. "You've spent so little time at your station, I doubt even _you_ know when you're there anymore!" He let out yet another sigh before (apparently, based on more footsteps) turning around. "How in the world did I, the great Papyrus, wind up with a brother as lazy as you? I swear, you must be getting lazier and lazier every day!"

"Hey," the second speaker – Sans, was it? – said, "don't get a- _head_ of yourself. I've gotten a _ton_ of work done today." He paused. "A skele- _ton_."

" _Sans_!" More footsteps.

"Come on, you're smiling."

" _I am and I hate it_!" the other speaker, Papyrus, said. He let out a third sigh. "Why does someone as great as me have to do so much just to get some recognition?"

"Wow, sounds like you're really working yourself… down to the bone."

" _Ugh_!"

Grandt bit down on his tongue to keep himself from laughing aloud. He always enjoyed a good joke, but bad jokes were something else altogether. It was taking all of his energy to stay quiet. Thankfully, a sense of preservation tended to force seriousness into every situation.

"Fine, Sans! Do what you want. Meanwhile, _I_ plan to actually get some _work_ done. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to work on my puzzles. I suggest _you_ do the same!" With a final huff, Papyrus seemed to run off into the distance, laughing "nyeh-heh-heh" as he went.

A few moments later, Grandt heard Sans's slow footsteps as he seemed to walk away in the opposite direction, apparently heading back toward the Ruins.

Grandt suddenly released his held breath, allowing himself to make a bit more noise as the terror left. They were gone. He was safe for now.

He opened his hands, pressing his palms against the floor as he pushed himself up to his knees. Grandt looked over the counter for a moment, scanning it to make sure nobody was out there.

He let out a quiet, relieved sigh and touched his hand to his chest. His heartbeat was going down, at least, but he was still nervous that he would run into a monster soon. If nothing else, it would be smart to give himself a few minutes before heading on so that he wouldn't have to risk running into either of the two sentries. Yes, that sounded reasonable enough. He stood up fully.

Then he turned his head back and found himself staring into the empty eyes of a grinning skeleton.

" _Hey there_."

Grandt cried out in shock and fell back. He toppled over the counter and landed on his back in the snow. He sat himself up just in time for the skeleton to suddenly appear in front of him again. It wrapped its fingers around his neck and pushed him back down, crashing his head into the snow. Grandt instinctively grabbed at its arm with both hands, desperate to pry off its vice grip.

"So tell me somethin', won't'cha?" the skeleton said in a deadly calm voice. "What did you do to Toriel?"

"What…?" Grandt choked out. Its hand was making it hard to speak at all. "Wh-what're you… talking…?" Suddenly he broke out in a coughing fit and gasped for air.

The skeleton pushed him further into the snow. "Y'know, I go there sometimes. The Ruins, I mean. There's a sweet old lady who lives there." Its grip seemed to grow even tighter. "But you know that already, _don't'cha_?

"I went there today again. We agreed about the time, but she wasn't there. I waited a bit. She never showed." The skeleton leaned in closer, and for a second Grandt could have sworn that he saw a flash of gold in its empty sockets. It laughed a quiet, almost bitter laugh. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Grandt tightened his grip on the skeleton's arm, pulling it away more forcefully. "T-Toriel…? N-no, I… I d-didn't…"

Grandt felt himself be pushed even further down. "C'mon, don't lie to me. I'm not stupid. Lazy, sure, but not stupid."

"I-I don't know…" Grandt pried its hand from his neck, holding it at bay, but only barely. "I don't know what happened!"

He kicked up suddenly, catching the skeleton in its ribs and sending it stumbling back. It seemed more shocked than actually damaged, but Grandt planned to use the diversion regardless.

He forced himself up and turned around. As he began to run, however, he felt the skeleton grab hold of the neck of his shirt. It pulled him back toward it.

"You knew I was under that stand, didn't you?" Grandt hissed between grit teeth, struggling to get out of his shirt. "Why didn't you just kill me then?!"

"Papyrus is just a kid," the skeleton answered. "He's always wanted to catch a human and join the royal guard. I didn't wanna break his heart."

Grant continued to struggle. "What do you mean?!"

"Well, that's easy." The skeleton chuckled. "'Cause by the time I'm done with ya, there won't be anythin' _human_ left." It suddenly pushed him down, shoving his head straight into the snow. "Now then… Got anythin' left to say?"

"I didn't kill her!" Grandt shouted. "I don't know what happened, but she was alive when I left! I didn't even touch her, I–"

"Nice try," the skeleton said calmly, indicating that it found his argument anything but. "Now let's get started, shall we?"

Grandt's heart was racing again. His eyes watered into the snow. He coughed and choked and sputtered.

 _Too fast._

 _What do you think you're doing, Kallis?!_

 _Traitors… don't deserve to live._

The flames continued to spread and Shord _oh God Shord no please stop it stop it STOP IT–_

 _Oh God Fain get out of there take Frisk and run you have to escape no get awAY FROM THEM LEAVE THEM ALONE–_

 _Oh God no why did you do it why did you why did you why did you why–_

"Sans?"

Everything seemed to suddenly freeze in place. Grandt stayed still along with the rest of time for several seconds before he slowly pulled his head up and out of the snow.

Standing in front of him was a taller skeleton, roughly as tall as he was, wearing an outlandish costume that looked like it belonged more in a costume store than in the middle of a snowy mountain.

"Oh, hey Papyrus," Sans said, almost as though nothing had happened. "You need somethin'?"

"Yes actually," said Papyrus as he stepped forward. "I thought I left my trading cards here, and–" He suddenly stopped as soon as he laid eyes on Grandt. "Sans…?" he asked very quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Is that a h-human?"

Sans looked down at Grandt for a moment, as if considering, and prepared to answer before Grandt beat him to the punch.

"No, I'm just a skeleton with skin on it."

"Oh… Really?" Papyrus said dejectedly, slumping his shoulders.

"Nah, he's a human," Sans said.

" _Oh my God, he's a human_?!" Papyrus suddenly cried out joyfully, before he noticed the human's odd position. "But why is it in the snow? Sans, don't tell me _you_ captured it?!"

"What? Me? Don't be silly." Sans pulled Grandt up to his feet. "I was just… uh… holdin' him here for ya."

Grandt rubbed his neck and glared back. For a moment, he debated whether or not he should say what had really happened. Then he recalled how strangely innocent Papyrus had seemed, and he decided not to do that to him.

"Well, humans are known to be quite dangerous," Grandt muttered, still rubbing at the sore spots on his neck. "Why, the last time I met with this sweet old lady, I gave her some food that may have had a tiny chance of making her _slightly ill_."

He saw Sans wince slightly out of the corner of his eye, but he focused on Papyrus. "Well, you've caught me. Is this the part where you kill me and take my SOUL?"

Papyrus looked appalled at the thought. "What? No! Of course not!" He paused. "I'm just going to hand you over to Undyne – she's, uh, she's the captain of the royal guard –, and then I'll be able to join!"

 _A military type, huh?_ Grandt thought to himself. _This place is just full of surprises…_

"So… human!" Papyrus said, looking like he was a few seconds away from exploding from joy, "if I really want to join the royal guard, I must capture you myself! And to do that, I will best your will with my many complicated puzzles!"

Grandt smirked a bit as he suddenly thought of something horrible. "Well, if you really want to capture me, you should start by getting rid of your spine."

Papyrus cocked his head a bit. "My spine? Why would I do that?"

"Because," Grandt replied seriously, placing his hand on Papyrus's shoulder and looking him dead in the eyes, "it's holding you back."

Papyrus let out a loud scream of frustration and ran off deeper into the area, mumbling something about "skull jokes" as he went. Sans just burst out laughing at the display, his earlier animosity seemingly forgotten.

"Alright," he said, "you're an okay guy."

Grandt turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. "Sorry to tell you this, but I think your moral compass is a bit messed up if you're basing how good a person I am on a pun."

Sans waved him off. "Nah, it's not that." He paused. "Okay, it's a _little bit_ that, but really it's somethin' else."

"And what's that?" Grandt asked, crossing his arms.

"Simple. If you were _really_ dangerous, you'd have killed Papyrus when you had the chance. Used him as a hostage, at least."

Grandt stopped, slowly uncrossing his arms. "Huh," he said. "I-I never thought of that."

"Exactly." Sans turned around toward the door to the Ruins. "Look, I'm sorry about the whole 'tried to kill you' thing."

"No, it's fine," Grandt said, slowly touching his neck again. "At least you only _tried_ to kill me. It could've gone much worse."

"You're takin' this pretty well," Sans observed.

"If you think you're the only person who's ever tried to kill me, you're sorely mistaken."

Sans snorted. "Sounds like a personal problem. You should probably get that looked at."

In spite of the rather enjoyable turn of events, Grandt still found himself looking at Sans with a bit of unease. Of course, his reasons for attacking him had been understandable. If a monster had come to Ebott and had apparently killed someone there – especially someone with whom he was close –, Grandt would likely have acted the same way.

But still, that show of power was terrifying. It was like the first time he'd sparred with Mida all over again, only this time he didn't have the benefit of youth giving him any sort of advantage.

No, this skeleton, Sans, was dangerous, but he didn't seem actively menacing. It had been a spur of the moment decision. That was all. Regardless, however, it was still terrifying, and Grandt would have to keep a close eye on Sans from now on.

"I'll think about it," Grandt finally replied, and he turned around and began walking after Papyrus. He stopped. "By the way, what do you plan to do about Toriel?"

"Eh, I'll probably knock, ask if she's home, break down the door with excessive force, the usual."

Grandt snorted. "I'd offer you a hand, but I doubt she wants to see me after I ran off. In any case, good luck."

"Thanks," Sans said. "You too."

And then the two of them began walking down their separate paths, literally leaving the events at the guard station behind them as they continued onward. Grandt's footsteps, somehow deeper yet feeling more shallow, left a long track in the snow as he went, following Papyrus into the snowy forest beyond.

* * *

 **AN: Note that, at the time this story takes place, Toriel has not yet asked Sans to watch over any humans who fall into the Underground. His leaving Grandt alive at the end of the last chapter was based more on an assumption than it was on a request - and thus, why he was also willing to kill Grandt when Toriel didn't show up to meet him. In the game, he won't kill you no matter what you do because of that request, at least until the end of Genocide. Because the request doesn't exist yet, however, he's much more willing.** **That being said, the "fight scene" (if you can call it that, since it was incredibly one-sided) was a lot of fun to write, especially since it gave me a chance to show off Sans's ridiculous power compared to Grandt's elderly status.**

 **Also, Sans and Papyrus are just fun characters to write in general. I'm looking forward to using them much more as the story goes on.**


	7. Chapter 2-3

The cliff disappeared completely as both sides of the gap merged together, forming an odd sort of forest. From what Grandt could tell, every tree was an evergreen, complete with snow on its branches. It created an odd but gorgeous atmosphere, particularly since Grandt hadn't seen such a sight in well over a decade. He relished it privately as he walked along the well-trodden path.

He quickly came to crossroads, one path going forward, and one path splitting off to the left. With no sign to guide his way, he simply chose to keep walking forward. He could always turn back if the path proved to be a dead end.

His footsteps felt lighter than before, most likely a result of the shallower supply of snow in this area. Grandt continued to look around the area as he walked, but he found it to be barren of anything more interesting than the trees, save a fallen log or a rock or two. It was a simple hike through a natural wonder – a forest that had grown underground.

 _What a strange place_ , Grandt thought as he ran his fingers over one of the trees. _To think that something like this could exist so deep down… What else could there be?_

It said a lot about the potential for life. What else had humans yet to discover? Were they aware of this place even when they sealed away the monsters so long ago? They couldn't have been… or could they?

As Grandt was thinking this, he heard the sound of flapping wings nearby. He quickly hid himself in a particularly large space between two trees, pressing himself as far in as he could. For a moment, he saw nothing outside, and then he watched in awe as an odd creature flew past.

It was a strange sort of thing. Its body was like an owl's, but its head was shaped like a snowflake. As it flew by, it muttered what sounded like bad jokes under its breath.

Grandt waited until he was certain that creature was no longer within earshot before he exited from his hiding spot. He stumbled out from between the trees, glancing back and forth to make sure he was truly safe. Although he'd seen no signs of true hostility from the denizens of the Underground thus far – excepting that flower and Sans, of course –, he wasn't about to risk losing his life due to letting his guard down.

With that in mind, Grandt continued walking down the path, checking constantly for any signs of nearby monsters. The road ahead was long, arduous, and certainly cold, so Grandt forced himself to walk it with even more caution than before. If he encountered another monster, he needed at least some way to escape or hide. Not to mention that he had no desire to wind up dead on the side of the path because of another misstep.

He suddenly came to a halt as he noticed another station up ahead. From where he stood, Grandt couldn't tell whether or not anyone was currently manning it, but he was almost certain that there was at least someone there. It didn't make sense for there to be two empty guard stations, after all.

Grandt stepped over slowly, cautiously, and noticed a sign that had been stuck into the snow on an angle. The words "Absolutely No Moving!" were written on it in large, blocky, and slightly disjointed letters, as though it had been written in the middle of a small earthquake.

He glanced back at the guard station quickly, weighing his options. Of course, he could always test his luck by walking in front of it, but given how little luck he'd been having lately, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it a shot.

Instead, Grandt slowly reached down and grabbed a small handful of snow. He packed it together quickly and tossed the makeshift snowball against the side of the station. Before he could be spotted, he pressed himself between a pair of trees and held his breath.

After a moment, he heard a voice from nearby. "Hey! Who did this?" Grandt heard footsteps from nearby as the monster came closer. "Dogamy? Dogaressa? Big Guy, that you?" The footsteps became louder, closer, closer still.

Then the monster stopped directly in front of Grandt's hiding place, glancing about for a moment. It was some sort of dog-person, only slightly shorter than Grandt, dressed in an odd assortment of clothing, and with a dog treat sticking out of its mouth. For a moment, it simply stood in place, shifting the treat between its lips and darting its gaze from side to side.

The monster then turned and stared directly at Grandt. Grandt froze in place, not even blinking or breathing as the monster looked directly into his eyes. For a moment, he feared that it had spotted him, but it then turned around and looked elsewhere.

"Must be crazy…" it murmured to itself. "Could've sworn I saw somethin' moving in there. Yeesh, what would Undyne think if she saw me like this…?" It turned around again for a moment, looking into Grandt's nook, only for him to freeze up again.

The monster scoffed to itself. "Yeah, like there's anythin' in there. _Nothing_ can stay still for that long."

It wandered away, presumably back to its station by the sound of its footsteps, and Grandt once again pulled himself out of his nook, glad to have found this new it could only see moving things, then he had a definite edge in getting passed it.

Grandt took a deep breath before getting down into a crawl and slowly moving over the snow, doing everything in his power to make no noise as he maneuvered under the station's field of view. When he heard the monster stand up inside, he froze in place, and he continued moving when he heard it sit back down. Within only a few minutes, he reached the other side of the station, and when he felt confident enough to stand, he got up and wiped the snow from his front.

One ordeal behind him, Grandt began walking down the path once more, pressing his hands into his pockets for warmth. It wasn't long before he came upon another set of crossroads. Once again, one path lead off to his left, while the other went straight ahead. Grandt decided that, given his luck so far, it made sense for him to keep walking forward. Worst-case scenario, he figured he could always hide himself and wait for the commotion to die down before continuing onward.

He began to walk again, stepping over the ice with as much caution as before, and moved down his chosen path, all the while thinking to himself about how strange the Underground truly was. Its environment was one thing, but the monsters that lived within seemed to take all kinds of odd shapes.

 _Skeletons, goats, dogs, owls…_ Grandt thought to himself, shaking his head, _just what in the world are these creatures?_

Grandt sighed and pulled his hands from his pockets. He gripped the collar of his shirt and moved it up a bit in an effort to cover up his neck, not that it really did any good. Still, he figured that any extra heat was valuable. Every second he was out in this weather without any good protection was a second closer to becoming frostbitten.

He pressed his fingers against the bark of a nearby tree and ran his fingers over its grooves and rivulets. No matter how many times he saw it or tried to justify it, he couldn't wrap his head around the subterranean forest. Still, the trees seemed healthy enough despite the cold. Then again, he supposed that it made sense. When something lived in such a climate for so long, was it any wonder that it adapted?

Grandt shook his head and continued walking down the path, pressing his hands back into his pockets. He struggled to keep his eyes up, rather than on the uneven snow, but he managed to do it through sheer willpower.

After walking for a decent amount of time, Grandt exited the forest and emerged on a tall, open area with cliffs on every side. There was a large square of inset snow in front of him, and across it he could see Sans and Papyrus speaking about something.

"You're so lazy!" Papyrus said, sounding as excited as ever. "You were napping all night!"

"I think that's called… sleeping," Sans replied calmly.

"Excuses, excuses!"

Papyrus crossed his arms, turning away from Sans in a huff and meeting Grandt's eyes. His smile seemed to grow, and his eye-sockets lit up. "Oh-ho! It's the human! Sans! Sans! Do you see? It's the human!" He was waving his arms about frantically, like a child about to open his birthday presents.

Sans looked over and waved casually. "Hey, Grandt."

"Ah, Sans, I–" Grandt paused and placed a hand on his beard. "Wait, I never gave you my name…"

"Nope, ya didn't."

Papyrus looked back and forth between the two, obviously confused. "Sans, when did you get on a first-name basis with the human?"

Sans turned back to him and winked. "Well… We bonded over our shared love of bad jokes."

"That aside," Grandt said, trying to justify how Sans had gotten here before him, "did you find out what happened to Toriel? Is she alright?"

"Yeah, she's doin' fine," Sans replied. "I'll tell ya all about it after ya solve this puzzle."

" _If_ he solves this puzzle, Sans!" Papyrus protested. " _If_! Now human," he added, turning back to Grandt, "I, the great Papyrus – and, er, Sans –, have created several difficult puzzles to stop you from getting any further! And I think you'll find this one… quite _shocking_."

Grandt smiled. "Well, I don't mind a good puzzle or two. What've you got?"

"I'm glad you asked! This," he said with an excited flourish as he pulled something out of his pocket, "is the invisible electricity maze! You see, when you touch the walls of this maze, this orb will administer a hearty zap! Sound like fun?"

Grandt placed his hand back on his beard. "Well, that depends," he said. "How 'hearty' is this zap?"

"Well…" Papyrus said, knitting his nonexistent eyebrows. "I mean, I've never personally tested it myself, but I _think_ 'hearty' means that it will stop your heart? Maybe?" He shook his head. "Bah, it hardly matters–"

" _Heart_ ly matters?" Sans interrupted.

"Sans!" Papyrus bellowed. "Would you stop?! All I'm trying to do is explain this simple and completely harmless puzzle to this geriatric fellow over here!"

Grandt stepped forward and looked at the inset area of snow. "But how do I know where to walk?"

"That's why it's invisible, silly!" Papyrus answered proudly. "You see, all you have to do is wander around this place until you get to the other side!"

Grandt took a moment to respond. "That… That sounds more like torture than a puzzle."

"Torture? Nonsense!" Papyrus scoffed. "Here, just take a step forward – no, no, more than that! There, now reach out and give the puzzle a try for yourse _aaaaaARGH_!" he screamed as electricity visibly ripped through his body.

Grandt tentatively pulled his hand away from the maze and quickly placed it back in his pocket.

Papyrus, seemingly no worse for wear, turned to Sans and yelled, "Sans?! What did you do?!"

"I, uh… I think _he_ needs to hold the orb."

"Oh, okay."

Papyrus took the orb in hand and, with absolutely no caution or concern for his own well-being, walked through the electricity maze. He didn't watch where he was going and moved very quickly. It was clear that he had memorized the correct way through.

He stepped up to Grandt and held out the orb. "Here you go," he said cheerfully.

Grandt reached out to grab it, picked it up, and then deliberately dropped it into the snow. "Ah, I'm sorry," he said, grinning weakly as he bent over to pick it up again. "It seems my arthritis is acting up again."

"Arthritis?" Papyrus gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't know! Here—" he reached down and picked up the orb "—I'll hold onto this for you!"

"You don't have to do that…"

"Of course I do!" Papyrus replied. "I can't let you get too hurt, and… Well, it doesn't look like I can just set this on your head." He seemed to ponder it for a moment. "No, I definitely can't! Not even I, the great Papyrus, can perform such miracles!"

"Well, I have to thank you for at least trying," Grandt replied sadly. "You seem like such a nice young ma– _monster_ ," he quickly corrected himself.

"I-I do?! Wow!" Papyrus grinned even wider, if that was possible for a creature whose face was seemingly set in a permanent smile. "Here, old timer – follow me!"

Grandt followed Papyrus's every step through the maze, matching him exactly so as not to shock him by accident. While it wouldn't have harmed him any, Grandt didn't want to wind up hurting Papyrus at all, even by mistake. Nobody who was that kind – especially to someone who should have been considered an enemy – deserved to be injured.

"Ah… Thank you," Grandt said as they exited the maze.

"Of course!" Papyrus said, turning around and pressing a fist to his chest. "The great Papyrus always helps those in need! Including the ones I'm… supposed to… capture…" He trailed off and looked at Grandt for a moment. Then without another word, he turned around and walked off down the precarious path.

Grandt stared after him for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should say anything before ultimately deciding against it. Instead, he turned to Sans.

"You don't really have arthritis, do ya?" Sans asked.

"Thank God, no," Grandt replied, chuckling. "Can you imagine how hard it would be to cook like that?" He turned his head in the direction Papyrus had walked off. "Still, I feel bad about tricking him like that. He seems like a good kid."

Sans stepped up to him. "Eh, don't worry about it. He'll get over it soon. Besides," he added with a small laugh, "he probably thinks it's his own fault, anyway."

"Well you don't have to pour salt on the wound," Grandt muttered. "Ah, that reminds me… You said you looked in on Toriel, right?"

"Yep."

"How is she?"

Sans cast his eyes over to the side for a moment before responding, "Well, like I told ya, she's doin' okay. I went to check in on her, knocked a couple times, broke down the door–"

"Standard procedure, I get it," Grandt deadpanned.

"Heh, yeah." Sans leaned in a bit closer. "So I got in there, 'cause I figured hey, maybe she was sick or somethin', right? Turns out she was fine."

"So what was the problem?"

"The second door in." Sans said simply. At Grandt's confused expression, he added, "Er, ya know that door leadin' to the door that goes outside? There's a hallway or somethin' in between 'em."

"Yes, I think I remember it," Grandt replied. His legs felt tired from walking around so much, so he sat down on the snow. "Was the door broken? Locked?"

Sans looked at him for a moment. "Vines."

"Vines?"

"Yep, all over the door." Sans sat down in front of him, and then traced a vague outline in the snow. "Basically, there were these vines coverin' the door – I don't mean a couple, there must've been dozens of 'em –, and they just came back whenever I cut one down."

"So what'd you do?" Grandt leaned back, pressing his palms against the snow for a moment before he quickly pulled them away. They were cold enough as is.

Sans chuckled. "Well, that's easy. I blew it up."

"Ah, also standard procedure."

"You're not phased by a lot, are ya?"

Grandt laughed. "Well, when you do as much cooking as I do, you're bound to see some strange things." He paused. "Also, I've blown up doors before."

"Heh, sounds like you live an exciting life," Sans said, tracing his finger through the snow.

"Well, I _did_ , at any rate," Grandt replied. "I'm retired now, you see." He shook his head. "But I think we're getting off track. You blew up the door, then what happened?"

Sans nodded. "Yep, I blew it up, got in there, and met up with Toriel. Turns out those vines've been there for a while. An hour or two, at least." He looked up from his drawing and met Grandt's eyes. "About the time you left, actually."

"What? But Sans, that makes no sense!" Grandt said. "Why would they only emerge right after I left? I don't know any magic. I don't even know anything that could create vi–" He suddenly froze as the horrible, horrible realization hit him like a bludgeon.

 _That flower…_

"Grandt?" Sans's voice brought him back to reality. "Do ya know somethin'?"

"Maybe," Grandt said quietly, placing a hand to his forehead, "but I hope I'm wrong. Oh, _God_ , I hope I'm wrong…"

There was a long few minutes of awkward silence as he and Sans said nothing. Grandt couldn't say why Sans wasn't speaking, but he was too busy trying not to think about Flowey to speak. He pushed the memory to the back of his mind, struggling to find any conversation topic to move on.

Sans coughed. "So Toriel–"

"Yes, yes, Toriel," Grandt interrupted quickly. "Uh… You said you met with her, right? What, uh… What did you two talk about?"

"You, mostly," replied Sans. "She said she was worried about ya. Also somethin' about how ya ran off while she was cooking." He snorted. "I dunno about you, but that sounds kinda rude."

Grandt sighed. "I know," he said, before looking up at Sans with a rueful grin. "I'm going to guess you left out the part where you tackled me to the ground and tried to kill me, right?"

He could've sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath from nearby, but he dismissed it as the wind blowing underground, which he supposed was technically possible in the same way that being stuck in the Underground was technically good. Besides, the way Sans winced whenever he brought it up made him feel too bad to keep pushing the point.

"A-anyway," Sans said, clearly eager to move the conversation along, "she gave me somethin' to give ya."

"Really? What is it?"

"Here." Sans handed him a small, vaguely angular device.

Grandt looked down at it for a moment and unconsciously stood up. It was definitely small – only slightly longer than his hand –, with a blue casing and a small black screen. Below that screen was a list of numbers from zero to nine, though not necessarily in that order. There were a number of odd buttons along the device's sides, apparently used to control volume and brightness.

There was no mistaking it. This device was some older model of cell phone. It didn't seem to have texting, photography, or anything else that was commonplace outside of the Underground, but it had all the essential features that Grandt had grown up with. In that way, it was strangely nostalgic.

He glanced down at Sans. "This is nice, of course, but… why would she have you deliver it to me? Even if she wanted to speak to me using this, I can't imagine that the Ruins get terribly good reception."

"They don't," came a cold voice from directly behind him.

Grandt froze in place. After a moment, he lowered the phone down to his side and slowly turned around, right into the face of an irritated-looking Boss Monster.

He grinned weakly. "Hi, Toriel."

She simply crossed her arms in reply, scowling at him. "Hello, Grandt."

* * *

 **AN: This chapter has changed a lot since my initial idea for it. Originally, it would have gone until the midway save point (which I ultimately scrapped because the chapter would have gone on for too long), and Toriel was not going to be reintroduced at all. I've never been a fan of solving plot points so shortly after they're introduced, and doubly so when they're resolved offscreen. I ultimately relented on both counts for a few reasons, which I'll bring up as the story goes on.**


	8. Chapter 2-4

Grandt shifted uncomfortably under Toriel's scrutinizing glare. The phone in his hand felt like lead. It wasn't meant to happen like this – in fact, this wasn't supposed to happen at all. How in the world had she caught up with him so quickly?

He let out a sharp breath through gritted teeth, doing everything in his power not to back down. Her eyes were like daggers, her gaze like ice, like that of a mother who was disappointed in a disobedient child. Arms crossed, back straight, eyes narrow. She was the very picture of someone used to dealing with the frustrating, the childish, the foolish, the bold, and the arrogant.

Grandt wondered which of those now applied to him. Probably all five.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Toriel demanded finally.

Grandt leveled his eyes with hers, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Does it matter if I do?"

"Of course it does!" Toriel cried. "Grandt, do you even understand what it is you've done?" She lowered her arms a tad, before quietly adding, "I was worried about you."

Grandt felt his heart break. Toriel looked and sounded positively crushed by his flight, and here he was trying to remain aloof. "I-I'm sorry."

"Are you really?"

Grandt's shoulders slumped and he turned his head down. He stood in silence for several seconds before he slowly shook his head to each side.

Toriel dropped her arms completely. Her eyes had lost their coldness, their accusatory quality, and all that remained was sadness. "Why?"

"I told you why. My granddaughter, she–"

"I know that," Toriel said. "I read your note. I just… I just can't understand why you wouldn't tell me!"

Grandt looked at her seriously. "If I'd told you, you still wouldn't have let me leave, right? I had to." He paused and felt his shoulders slump. His gaze turned downward. "I had to. I– She's all I have left."

Toriel stared at him for a moment, new comprehension seeming to take root in her eyes. "What about her parents?"

"Her parents?" Grandt paused and took a long, uneasy breath. "My son and his wife? They're–"

 _Fain, take Frisk and run!_

 _Don't even think about it, you ass! Wait, is that–?_

"They're dead."

Any remaining anger in Toriel's eyes was extinguished completely on hearing those words. It was instead replaced with a look of sorrow and pity, wide-eyed and jaw unclenched, looking down so as not to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment.

Grandt shook his head. "Please, don't apologize." He looked up at her and smiled weakly. "That was over ten years ago."

"Even so–"

"Toriel," Grandt interrupted her. "Toriel, look at me."

She raised her eyes up to meet his, and Grandt said, "I will always remember that they died. I think about it every day." He took a long, deep breath. "But even so, they're not why I ran. I didn't leave the Ruins for their sake – at least, not directly.

"My granddaughter is alone back in our village, Ebott. I trust everyone there with my life, and I know that they'll be more than willing to take care of her in my absence." He ran a hand over his forehead. "But all the same, I don't want her to be without any family. I don't want to leave her all alone. I know you're angry at me, and you've every right to be, but I won't last much longer." His hand unconsciously brushed over his chest. "Every day, I grow closer to dying. But before I go, I want to see her again. I want to make sure she's safe, that _he_ won't–"

Grandt stopped himself. He looked down at the snow, where Sans had been silently sitting this whole time, an unreadable expression in his eyes; he looked at the distance, at the abyss, at what may have either been mountains or merely the distant wall of the cave; and he looked at Toriel, whose eyes were still downcast even as they stared right into his.

"I just… I just don't want her to be alone."

Silence overtook the area. For what must have been several minutes, none of them spoke. None of them even moved. There was nothing of any sort to rustle the quietness of the scene.

Finally, Toriel spoke. "Grandt, are you really willing to go through the entire Underground just to be certain that your granddaughter is okay? Even though you risk dying?"

"I risk dying every day," Grandt said evenly. "I've nothing to lose."

Toriel looked at him for a moment. "I see," she finally replied. "Then I will go with you."

"What?!" Grandt and Sans shouted in unison.

The two briefly exchanged a glance, then Grandt continued, "I appreciate the thought, but… Well, why do you even want to come along?"

"The way I see it, _somebody_ has to make sure you do not overexert yourself," Toriel replied. "Besides, it's… been a long time I holed myself away in the Ruins. I'll admit it is selfish, but a part of me wants to see what the Underground has become in that time."

Sans stood up, dusted himself off, and shrugged. "Eh, it's pretty much the same, really. Nothin' really changes down here."

Grandt sighed to himself and turned his head to the side. "I wish I could say the same about the surface," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, looking back at Toriel with a sheepish grin. "I was just… just thinking aloud, that's all."

Toriel stared at him for a moment, disbelief evident in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something when Sans suddenly spoke up.

"So, Toriel," Sans said neutrally, "how long're you gonna stand in the middle of the electricity maze?"

She glanced over at him and blinked. "The… electricity maze? Odd, I don't feel anything…"

Grandt looked between the two for a moment, uncomprehendingly. Then the obvious hit and he felt his jaw go slack. "Sans…?"

"Yo."

"Papyrus still has the orb, doesn't he?"

"Well, he _should_ ," Sans answered much too calmly for Grandt's taste. "Unless he went and lost it somewhere, at least."

Grandt paled. "Ah… Excuse me, Toriel, but do you mind if we continue this conversation later? I-I need to go and make sure Sans's brother isn't well done."

Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned around, slipped the phone into his pocket, and began hurrying on down the path. After all, he'd no want to find that the friendly skeleton who'd saved his life was now nothing but a pile of ash.

* * *

"I wonder what that means," Toriel mused to herself from where she stood.

She'd thought the square of inset snow was odd, but given there appeared to be no traps on its surface, she'd stepped right out into its center without a second thought. Was it really some puzzle? Some sort of "electricity maze," Sans had called it. But for all the build-up, she had felt no shock or even a tingle. It was almost disappointing, really.

"Probably nothing," Sans said. He winked, and added, "But, uh… You might wanna take a step to your right. One more." He paused for a moment. "Yeah, there ya go."

"Is your brother in some sort of danger?" Toriel asked, suddenly serious. "If he is, then–"

"Don't worry about it," Sans said, cutting her off. "Trust me. He can take a few hits. Pap's tough."

Toriel nodded. "Well, that is a relief. Though I do have to question why Grandt ran off so quickly… Perhaps he doesn't know?"

"About what?"

"Your brother," Toriel took a step forward, walking from the inset snow to the higher ground. "He's a good man," she said after a moment.

"Who, Papyrus?"

"No, I meant Grandt." She chuckled. "Though I've no doubt your brother's good, too." Her face suddenly fell. "But with Grandt, I understand his pain. I know what it's like to lose a child, and I would never wish it on anyone." She sighed. "It almost sounds like the only reason he keeps going is for the sake of his granddaughter. Can you imagine that, Sans? If your only reason for living was tied to a single person?"

Toriel thought she was Sans wince for a second, but she quickly dismissed the thought. "In any case, we should probably make sure that _he's_ alright. As much as I trust him, the idea of a frail old man all alone in the Underground…" She shook her head. "Well, I don't even want to think about it."

"I hear ya," Sans said, "but for the opposite reason."

"Are you saying that you think Grandt is dangerous?"

Sans didn't say anything for a few minutes, seemingly trying to find the correct words. "I got a look at his SOUL earlier. Back when he first came outta the Ruins."

That certainly caught her attention, if nothing else. From what she'd heard when the two spoke casually, Sans was one of the few monsters in the Underground who could accurately read a person's SOUL. Their overall health, their offensive and defensive capabilities, and even their LOVE and EXP were all displayed during the process. He'd used it on her once to prove he could, and the results had been frighteningly accurate.

"Is there a problem with it?"

Sans looked her dead in the eyes. "It's his LOVE, Toriel." He took a deep breath. "His LOVE is _fifteen_."

Toriel choked. "Are… Are you absolutely sure that's accurate?!"

"Yeah. I checked when he got outta the Ruins, first, but I didn't think anythin' about it at the time. I just thought maybe I was reading it wrong or something."

"Does that happen?"

Sans shrugged. "Eh, sometimes. Some monsters are hard to read. I thought, 'Maybe this guy's the same.' Besides, he was unconscious at the time. For all I knew, he was havin' a dream about killing people, and that ramped up his score a bit."

"Does _that_ happen?" Toriel asked again.

"Who knows? I've only seen a couple humans. It wasn't like I had a _bone_ to pick with him, anyway." Sans chuckled. "Then I got to the Ruins and you didn't answer, so I got worried. I wondered if I'd read him right, after all."

Toriel nodded. "But he didn't harm a single monster in the Ruins – at least, he didn't as far as I'm aware."

"Sure, but I didn't know that."

Toriel crossed her arms over her chest, and her face turned stern again. "And that's why you attacked him?"

Sans grimaced – at least, as well as a creature with a perpetual grin _could_ grimace. "So you heard that part, huh?"

"Very clearly."

"Right, well…" Sans sighed. "Yeah, he looked dangerous, so I took him down. Er… I tried to, I mean. Then Papyrus came along and… Well, I'm not gonna kill someone right in front of my bro, y'know? He's so innocent and he loves humans so much that it'd pretty much destroy him.

"So I let Grandt go while I looked for you. He seemed alright." Sans grinned – again, at least as much as he _could_ grin. "He told Papyrus a pretty bad joke, so I knew there was at least _some_ good in him."

Toriel suddenly perked up, dropping her arms completely as she leaned in closer. "What was the joke?" she asked excitedly.

Sans chuckled. "Ask him later. I'm sure he'd love to tell it again."

Toriel looked defeated, but she nodded slowly. "So what happened then?"

"Not much. I kept an eye on him while I got you outta the Ruins just in case he tried anything, but he just ran and hid from every monster around." Sans shrugged. "Then we got here."

"That's strange, though, isn't it?" Toriel asked, stepping forward a bit. "I've seen humans with high amounts of LOVE before. I can't say they were all _evil_ , of course, but they at least didn't hesitate to take a life if they had to. To think that he wouldn't even try to fight back…" She paused and thought for a moment. "That being said, I've also met people with very _low_ amounts of LOVE who were quite vicious."

"I'll give ya that much," Sans admitted. "Even hunters have a little bit of LOVE. Though I've gotta wonder how Grandt got his so high."

"You can ask him when we catch up," Toriel replied.

"And _you_ can ask him about that joke."

"Deal!" Toriel said, grinning widely. "We'd better hurry, though; I fear we have been talking for so long that he's probably made quite a bit of progress on his own."

"Eh, I wouldn't worry about that." Sans winked. "Trust me. There's one puzzle I _know_ he won't solve."

* * *

"What the _hell_ is a 'giasfclfebrehber'?!"

* * *

 **AN: After a bit of a hiatus, I'm back! I decided to make a few minor alterations to this story, and I needed some time to figure this particular chapter out. I wanted to make it a bit longer, but I wanted to separate the updates focused on character development from the updates focused on the journey. There will be plenty of overlap later, but I felt that this chapter ended off on a good enough point.**

 **I like to imagine that EXP increases with _every_ creature someone kills, be it intelligent or otherwise. However, only intelligent creatures really affect LOVE in a noticeable way, so even someone who hunts their whole life could only wind up with a LOVE of two or maybe three. Similarly, you'd have to kill thousands of non-intelligent insects to raise your EXP by even a single point. Of course, there are other factors that determine how much EXP someone gets from a kill, but I'll go more in-depth with that later on.**

 **As I said before, I did make some minor changes to this story, so I'll go into those now.**

 **First, I decided that I would create a schedule for this story. Chapters will update every Tuesday, barring a few exceptions (if I'm not available or if I don't have time to write). If I know I can't get a chapter out on Tuesday for whatever reason, I'll instead try to update on Monday, Wednesday, or Sunday. Note that any irregular updates should not affect the next week's schedule.**

 **Second, I changed the Arcs to Chapters (so we are currently in Chapter 2, rather than in Arc II). Nothing else has changed regarding that, but I wanted to let you all know just in case.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has been patient with me thus far, thank you to all the reviewers, and thank you to everyone who has favorited or followed this story! I'll see you all next Tuesday for what will hopefully be progress!**


	9. Chapter 2-5

Grandt stared down at the word jumble in abject disbelief. _This_ was supposed to be a puzzle? He'd spent ten minutes figuring out how to roll a snowball (really just a strange, multisided prism that almost resembled a snowball) down a course and into a hole. It was like playing golf, except the "ball" was constantly melting and cold, there were no golf clubs, and it was actually nothing like golf in the slightest. For all his complaining, though, it had been rewarding to see the flag come up at the end. The sense of satisfaction at completing a difficult puzzle had been worth it, even though he was quietly more thankful for the two small coins that popped out of the hole when the flag emerged.

But this "puzzle" – he could hardly even call it that without mentally inserting quotation marks – irked him to no end. Not because it was a simple word search when there was seemingly no penalty for failure or reward for success. Not because most of the words were childishly easy except for one, very obnoxious exception. Not even because the puzzle was literally impossible to solve.

No, what bothered him was Papyrus standing right across from him, a large grin on his face and an excited look in his eyes. When Grandt had arrived looking to make sure Papyrus was alright – after, of course, frantically trying to solve the snowprism golf game again and again –, he'd been pleasantly surprised to find that Papyrus was seemingly no worse for wear. Apparently, ten minutes of not being electrocuted was enough time for most monsters to recuperate their energy.

But while Papyrus wasn't injured, he _was_ incredibly frustrated by the simple puzzle on the ground. He claimed, "What sort of puzzle doesn't have a solution?" Then he requested that Grandt solve it to "prove his puzzle-solving skills."

And that's how Grandt found himself crouched over a word search in the middle of a snowy mountain, growing increasingly frustrated as he realized that Papyrus wasn't kidding about it not having a solution. Most of the words had a simple solution, even if he quietly questioned the point of including both "cigars" and "cigs" as options, but one random string of letters had no such answer.

He glared up at Papyrus. "What the _hell_ is a 'giasfclfebrehber'?!"

Grandt had no idea if he pronounced it correctly. At the moment, he hardly cared.

"Bah, it's probably foreign," Papyrus answered. "You'll have to ask Sans about that, though. He's the one who made this puzzle. It explains why it's so bad, doesn't it?"

Grandt let out a long, slow sigh as he looked back down at the word search. There wasn't a pencil or pen to mark it, one of the solutions was actually impossible, and the rest of it just screamed of laziness. He should've known.

Without missing a beat, Grandt reached down, picked up the soggy piece of paper, and stood up to his full height. He crumpled it up into a ball and unceremoniously threw it off the side of the mountain. Then he turned back to Papyrus, his face neutral.

"There. I solved it."

Papyrus stared at him for a moment. "Well, I'll admit it's a bit unorthodox… but sure, I'll allow it."

"Great," Grandt muttered, rubbing the back of his head. "So what's next? A crossword puzzle, or–?"

"Grandt!"

He turned around to see Toriel walking in from behind him, a relieved look on her face. She was holding a cellphone – the same model as his, Grandt thought idly – that she delicately placed in her pocket shortly after he saw her.

Toriel smiled a bit sheepishly. "I was going to call to make sure you were alright. Sans told me he didn't think you had gone far, but… Well, it never hurts to be cautious, right?"

Grandt chuckled. "No, I guess not." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Hmm… I'm guessing your number's already on here. Ah, there it is." He looked up. "But who's this second one? Sans?"

"Yep."

Grandt turned around again to the sight of Sans nonchalantly standing next to Papyrus. When had he…?

Sans winked and said, "I figured I could call ya every now and then. You like puns, right?"

Grandt looked down at his phone, then back up at Sans's grinning face with a grave expression. "I swear to God, Sans, if you call me every ten minutes just to tell me your latest joke, I'll make you regret it."

"Really."

"Why, yes." Grandt smirked. "You forget that I was a father once. I've an arsenal of terrible jokes large enough to make even the world's most powerful militaries beg for mercy – and believe me, Sans, I'm not afraid to point them all at you."

Sans chuckled. "Sounds like fun. So what happened to the puzzle?"

"The human got angry and threw it off a cliff," Papyrus said.

"Thanks for nothing, Papyrus."

"You're welcome!"

Toriel glanced up. "Oh, so that's your brother, Sans?" She stepped passed Grandt to join the other two monsters. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Papyrus."

"Same here!" Papyrus said. He leaned in close to Sans and whispered very loudly, "Sans! When did Asgore get here? And when did he shave?"

Grandt blinked. Who was Asgore, and why did he apparently look like an unshaven Toriel? The entire situation was very strange. Sans had appeared from nowhere beside Papyrus – though Grandt had to admit that, since he had not seen Sans arrive, it was technically possible that he simply snuck around him. Unlikely, of course, but possible –, and now Papyrus was claiming Toriel to be someone else entirely?

 _No, that's probably just Papyrus being Papyrus_ , Grandt thought to himself, looking over the three of them as they spoke. _But who's Asgore?_

He shook his head and forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. If he had questions, he could ask them; it wasn't like the monsters were withholding information, at least as far as he knew.

"You and Asgore are acquainted?" Toriel asked curiously.

"Well of course! You know everybody, Asgore! Though I'm not sure why you're speaking in third person." Papyrus placed a hand on his chin. "Now if a _clone_ of you knew me, _that_ would be an accomplishment. Like getting the water to boil without magic. Or waking Sans from a nap."

"I work the most at working the least," Sans added with a chuckle.

Grandt breathed in deep. "Who's Asgore?" he finally asked, and the three monsters turned to look at him.

Toriel crossed her arms and shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Asgore is–"

"He's the king of the Underground," Sans interrupted, prompting a relieved look on Toriel's face. "He runs this place, basically."

"I see…" Grandt murmured, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware there was a single ruler down here. Would he stand in the way of my escape attempt?"

Toriel shifted again. "He–"

"What if he does?" Sans prompted calmly.

"Then I'd try to reason with him. Try to see if I could…" Grandt trailed off. "I'd do whatever I could."

"And if it turned violent?"

"I'd incapacitate him somehow." Grandt ran a hand over his head. "Emotionally, mentally – if I had to, I'd get physical, but I'd rather not. It's been a long time since I've fought anyone." He chuckled. "A _very_ long time."

"You've fought in the past?"

"Yes. I have."

"Did you ever kill anyone?"

" _Sans_!" Papyrus and Toriel shouted in unison.

"No, I don't mind," Grandt said, looking at the two of them a bit apologetically. He turned his gaze back to Sans and shrugged. "There's no point in pretending. Besides, what's there to hide? Everybody who serves winds up on the battlefield eventually."

Sans stared at him for a moment before realization showed in his eyes. "Oh. That actually explains _everything_."

Grandt stared at him curiously. "Wait, what? What does that explain?"

"Sans thought you were a crazy murderer," Toriel offered helpfully.

"Wait, _what_?!"

"Nah, that's not it," Sans said, stepping forward a bit. "I can read SOULs a bit. Yours was… Well, it tells me that you offed a few people. Quite a few people, actually." He shrugged. "Can ya blame me for being a bit cautious?"

"I suppose," Grandt murmured, rubbing the back of his head. "Odd way to go about finding it out, though."

"Still, it is hard to believe you're in the military," Toriel said.

"I _was_ in the military. I retired over a decade ago." Grandt grinned sheepishly. "These days, I'm just a cook – and a grandfather, of course."

Papyrus crossed his arms. "So… I'm confused."

Grandt paused for a moment. "Oh, sorry. I never did introduce myself to you, did I?" He saluted. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Papyrus. I am Major Grandt Journa of the Idyllian Army, Squadron Fourteen."

"A _major_?!" Papyrus practically squealed. "Y-you mean I'm not just capturing a human… I'm capturing an _important_ human?! Wowie! Undyne won't _believe_ this one! But she totally should!"

Undyne? Well, that was another name to file away for later.

"Grandt, why did you not tell me _any_ of that?" Toriel asked. "If I knew you could defend yourself, I wouldn't have worried so much."

He laughed. "I've been retired for a long time, now. Whether I could fight before doesn't matter." Slowly, he raised a slightly shaky hand. "I may be able to cook, but I can't hold a gun straight these days. I used to be a bit of a pugilist, but… Well, I can't really punch too well anymore, either." He lowered his hand back to his side. "We men of the Journa family age quickly. Very quickly," he added with a grimace before placing his hands back into his pockets.

"I'm still surprised, though. I thought you were a cook…" Toriel muttered.

"I am," Grandt said, "but I do it more as a hobby than as a job. I did cook for my squadron sometimes. Never really wanted to make a career of it, though." He smiled a bit. "These days, I cook for Frisk – that's my granddaughter – and anyone who's hungry in Ebott. I guess now, I kind of do it full-time. Well, that and raising Frisk, of course."

Sans chuckled. "Well, it sounds like you've got a lot on your plate."

" _Sans_!" Papyrus shouted angrily, even as he clearly struggled to keep himself from laughing. "Stop doing that!"

"Papyrus, please do not be angry," Toriel said as she stepped closer to him, biting down on her lower lip to appear calm. "After all, Sans is right. It _does_ sound like Grandt may have bitten off more than he can chew."

Papyrus simply stared at her for a moment. His eye socket twitched as he calmly turned around and began walking away. While he left, though, Grandt could have sworn that he heard a quiet chuckle of "nyeh heh heh."

After he was completely out of sight, Toriel and Sans burst out laughing. Toriel was much louder (and Grandt had never heard someone laugh so hard in his life), but Sans was still clearly audible in his mirth. As the two were obviously enjoying themselves and none of his words would break through anyway, Grandt decided to let them calm down a bit before he said anything else.

After the laughter finally died down and Toriel finished wiping the tears from her eyes, Grandt said, "Shall we head on?"

"Ah… Yes, of course," Toriel said, looking a bit embarrassed at her earlier display. "I'm sorry we have kept you for so long."

"It's fine. Honestly, it's my own fault for talking for as long as I did." Grandt idly played with the hair in his beard. "Though I would like to keep going if at all possible. I'd like to find some shelter soon. I'm not especially tired or hungry yet, but I can't say how much longer that'll last…"

"Snowdin's not far," Sans said, gesturing down the path. "Course, at the rate you're goin', it'll probably take a few days to get there."

"And if we don't pause every ten minutes so I can tell you about myself?" Grandt asked blankly.

"Eh, I dunno. Probably an hour or two."

"Great." Grandt clapped his hands together. "Let's get walking, then. If either of you want to talk, let's at least do it while we're moving."

Toriel nodded. "Alright, then let us be off. Snowdin awaits!"

"Eventually!" Sans added with a chuckle.

Grandt looked back at the two with a small smirk. "Well, if we keep standing around talking about it, there's _snow_ way we'll reach it soon."

Toriel grinned, and Sans did that thing with his face that made his smile looked like it was stretching out a bit. And with that, the odd trio began their walk down the path again, this time together, and this time with a bit more purpose to their steps than before.

* * *

 **AN: Honestly, this chapter went completely differently than I'd originally intended. While I initially planned for Grandt to reveal himself as a soldier at a later point (which I'll go over when we get there), I realized partway through that the only way to keep Sans from asking about Grandt's past was for Grandt to not ask about Asgore. Since there was no reason for Grandt not to ask about Asgore and it would clash with his established personality, I decided to just roll with it and get that last bit of characterization out. Not to mention that actually having Grandt say it now helps to set up an actual twist that comes later on, and it'll help to cut down on the exposition of the scene where he was initially meant to reveal it.**

 **As for exposition, it's pretty much finished for now. From now until we get to Snowdin, there shouldn't be any more chapters like this where the characters just stand around and talk about who they are or why they're in the Underground. Hopefully, we'll get there in short order, but I'm not certain about how long it'll take to get past a few dogs, Papyrus's puzzles, and several terrible puns.**

 **As always, thank you all for your reads, your reviews, your favorites, and your follows, and I'll see you all next week!**


	10. Chapter 2-6

Stepping forward through the ankle-deep snow, Grandt and his companions came across what looked like a pair of tables sitting near a sheer rock wall. One of the tables had four legs and a drawer at its front, as well as a fork and a plate holding something like spaghetti with red sauce. The other table was round, with a single leg that disappeared beneath the snow. There was an unplugged microwave atop it.

"Strange," Grandt said, stepping forward when he noticed a wet note sitting in the snow.

He carefully picked it up and brushed the snow from its corners. The handwriting was large and – for lack of a better word – poor, scribbled in such a way that Grandt could only barely make it out. It looked like it had been written quickly, without any regard for quality.

"Is this Papyrus's handwriting?" he asked, handing the note off to Sans.

Sans looked it over for a moment and handed it back. "Yep, that's him. When he gets excited, he's not exactly a good writer."

"I guess not…" Grandt murmured, holding it close to his face as he began to read aloud.

"Human! Please enjoy this spaghetti. (Little do you know, this spaghetti is a trap designed to entice you! You'll be so busy eating it that you won't realize that you aren't progressing! Thoroughly japed again by the great Papyrus!) Nyeh-heh-heh, Papyrus."

"Hey, ya even got his laugh right," Sans said. "Good going."

Toriel stepped forward to investigate the table. "Do you think it is safe?"

"Nope," Sans said, "but probably not for the reason you're asking."

Grandt casually took the fork from the table, wincing a bit as the cold metal touched his skin, and tapped it against the spaghetti. The sound it made more resembled metal hitting against wood than it did metal hitting against cooked food. He looked back at Toriel and Sans with a blank expression.

"Well, now we know why the microwave's here."

"The _unplugged_ microwave," Toriel pointed out. Then she blinked. "Wait, Grandt, are you seriously considering eating that?"

"I'm not in the business of wasting food," Grandt replied. "Besides, I've eaten a lot of bad things in my life – I once had to be hospitalized for salmonella when I accidentally undercooked some chicken. One more culinary disaster won't kill me."

"It might," Sans chuckled.

"Well, now you're just making me curious."

Grandt reached out and grabbed the side of the spaghetti, tearing a frozen chunk away from the rest of the pile. He lifted the chunk to his mouth and took a small bite. He chewed quietly for a moment, and then he swallowed.

"How is it?" Toriel asked.

"Raw." Grandt casually slipped the chunk into his left-hand pocket. "It's not _terrible_ , but it's pretty bad. Does he cook often?"

"Eh, not really," Sans said, shrugging. "He just started taking lessons."

"Well, that makes some sense," Grandt said as he began walking forward again. "It takes a while to learn any skill, and cooking can be very difficult for beginners." He chuckled. "Maybe I can give him some advice."

Sans was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, I think he'd like that."

They walked a bit more in silence before they came upon a large, open cliff with more trees and a downward slope directly to their right. To their left sat a sign, on which the words "Warning: Dog Marriage" were written in the same large, blocky, and disjointed letters that had appeared when Grandt had passed the first sentry station. Grandt stared at the sign for a moment, reading and rereading it before he turned back to Sans and Toriel with a cocked eyebrow.

Sans chuckled. "Looks like Doggo's been having fun."

"Doggo?" Grandt asked.

"Yep. He's a dog, too." Sans stepped up to the sign. "They all kinda mess with each other."

"Sounds like a fun group," Toriel said, smiling. "I do not believe I've had the chance to meet them, though."

"Well, I suppose we'll have to," Grandt said.

He stepped forward, ignoring the downward slope for the moment, until he reached a small inset square of snow not far away from the sign. Why was that there? Thus far, every time he'd seen such a section of snow, it meant there was something beneath it. The wiring for the electricity maze, table legs, whatever sort of dignity he'd buried when he'd tried to solve that word search… There was always something.

Grandt set his hand against the snow. He ran it over the surface for a bit, feeling to make sure there wasn't anything directly under it. Then, when he felt nothing unusual, he dug his hand into the snow, this time seeing if there was anything hidden deeper in. After a moment, his hand hit against something metallic.

Grandt smirked to himself. "There we go…" he murmured, and he began to dig away at that particular section until a switch became visible. Then he flicked the switch off and stood back up to his full height.

"Having fun?" Sans asked from behind him.

Grandt turned around and grinned. "A bit. It's nice that I'm at least starting to get a feel for this place, if nothing else."

"Is that right?" Sans replied.

"Well… I-I _hope_ so, at least," Grandt answered, scratching his head. "God knows I could use even a little bit of knowledge."

He looked away from Sans, glancing about the whole area for a moment. "I'll be honest, though. I'm shocked we haven't met too many monsters around here."

"You were expecting more?"

"I was expecting _any_."

The two of them began walking back towards the area's entrance. The snow was heavy, but they didn't seem to notice it as they spoke.

"Eh, it's not too surprising," Sans said. "After all, today's a holiday."

"Really?" Grandt asked.

Sans nodded. "Yep. That's why ya won't see a lot of monsters out now. Just ones that're really dedicated to the job."

"Like yourself?" Grandt said, smirking.

"It's a day to spend with your family," Sans replied. "And lemme tell ya, Papyrus is having the time of his life."

"Really? He doesn't seem especially–"

"Trust me." Sans looked over at him with what looked like a genuine smile. "If he didn't like this, do ya think he'd look so excited every time you show up?"

Grandt looked at him for a moment, uneasily, and then he nodded. "Well, alright. If you say so."

He noticed Toriel waving at them and waved back. She stepped over slowly, looking a bit giddy, and stopped in front of him and Sans.

"Hey, Toriel," Sans said. "Did ya find something?"

"Yes," she replied, grinning. "There were a large number of tall spikes at the bottom of this slope. I was going to inform you both about them, but then they suddenly vanished underground!" She looked between them. "I'm going to guess you both caused it."

" _He_ did." Sans placed a hand on Grandt's shoulder – odd, given that he had to raise his whole arm up in order to reach it. "Turns out this guy's some sorta puzzle-solving master."

Grandt snorted. "Now that's _completely_ untrue."

"Nah, he's pretty good." He looked over at Toriel. "He puzzled it out pretty quickly."

Toriel laughed. "Well, I suppose wisdom _does_ come with age."

Grandt winced and looked down. "I-I wouldn't…" He trailed off and sighed.

"Anyway," Sans said, looking down the slope, "we should probably get goin'. Papyrus is gonna be cranky if no one comes to see him soon."

"Alright," Grandt replied, nodding slowly. "Just down this slope, right?"

Toriel nodded. "That's right. Ah, watch your step there, Grandt! Some of the snow is very slippery."

Grandt stepped slowly, watching the snow in front of him like a hawk watching its prey – or, perhaps more accurately, like a mouse watching a circling hawk above. He walked deliberately, taking such small steps that his feet barely left the ground and barely were not touching one another, until he finally reached the bottom.

And then he looked to his left and saw Sans grinning at him.

"What the…?! But I–I walked down before you!"

"Turns out I'm _really_ fast," Sans said, chuckling.

"I guess you'd have to be…" Grandt murmured, rubbing the back of his head.

He looked over to where Toriel had recently come down, then back to the path forward. There were telltale marks of where the spikes had once been – holes in the snow, of course, but a closer investigation revealed a strange sort of metal grid from which the spikes had emerged. Most of it was covered with snow, giving him the impression that the barricade had either not been used often or that snow accumulation in this area of the Underground was greater than he'd thought.

But still, he had to wonder exactly how such a puzzle worked. Was it wireless? That made the most sense, certainly, but how would monsters have access to such technology? It had been decades since they'd been imprisoned in the Underground – nearly eighty years, as Grandt recalled. How was their technology so advanced, then? Perhaps they–

"Grandt?" Toriel asked. "What are you staring at?"

He blinked, and then realized he'd been doing just that. "Ah… It's nothing."

"I see…" Toriel stared at him, obviously not believing him.

"I was thinking about those spikes – the, ah… the barricade." Grandt pulled at his beard. "It's a bit curious, that's all."

"Whaddaya mean?" Sans asked as they began walking again.

"Well, it's just…" Grandt replied. "It's just, how does it work?"

Toriel shrugged. "I am afraid that I don't have an answer. I was in the Ruins for a long time. Most of the puzzles in there are rather primitive, by comparison. What about you, Sans?"

Sans snorted. "Please. I'm a comedian, not a mechanist."

"So you're a comic, Sans?" Grandt asked, struggling to hide his smirk.

"… I don't get it."

"Yes, you do."

"You can't prove anything."

Toriel suddenly stopped the two of them and pointed ahead at a small, short bridge situated over a crevasse. It wasn't a particularly long crevasse – in fact, Grandt presumed that he could easily jump across if he had to –, but the bridge looked a bit rotten and in need of replacing. It was enough that a child or Sans could probably cross without having to worry, but anyone heavier would probably be a bad idea.

"Here, I will go first," Toriel said, and she began to walk across the small bridge without a second thought.

It didn't so much as quiver beneath her, and – using that knowledge – Grandt stepped across it slowly. Once again, there was nary of even the smallest shakes.

Closer inspection revealed that the bridge wasn't rotting at all; in fact, it was in pristine condition. Instead, the signs of "rot" turned out to be paint that had apparently splashed while the bridge was being installed. He informed the others of this fact, and they all shared a laugh for a spell before Sans finally crossed to the other side and joined them.

"Odd choice, though, keeping it like that," Grandt mused to the two of them as they continued down the path. "If I didn't know any better, I'd assume the artists were colorblind." He paused. "The dogs down here aren't colorblind, are they?"

"You could ask 'em." Sans turned down towards where the path headed off. "Hey, are you guys colorblind?"

Grandt froze.

A pair of tall, humanoid dogs stepped up to them. They were dressed in black executioner's robes and held long-handled axes in both hands – or paws, Grandt, supposed. Regardless of the fact that they were dogs, they were still incredibly intimidating. Something about the way they carried themselves – backs straight, eyes almost completely covered, axes tall – sent a chill down Grandt's spine.

"Ah, hey, Sans," said one of the dogs in a calm, slightly deep voice. He glanced up and looked at Toriel and Grandt. "Who are these two?"

"Just some friends of mine," Sans replied.

"That's weird," said the first dog as he stepped over to Toriel, and Grandt thought he saw the faintest ghost of a smile beneath the black hood. "I don't remember you coming this way with other people."

Sans chuckled. "Is that really surprising?"

There was a pause as the two dogs looked at each other. "No, I guess not," the first one admitted. "In that case, we'll just–"

"Wait," the other dog said in a feminine voice, so low that it was almost a whisper. "I smell something strange."

"Something strange?" The first dog took a deep breath. "You're right… What's that smell?"

" _Where's_ that smell?"

"If you're a smell–"

"– Identify yoursmellf!"

The dogs came up on either side of Grandt. They stared down at him with cold, curious eyes, holding their axes in such a way that Grandt feared they would act as his executioners without any sort of hesitation.

"Smells a bit like Doggo," the first dog mumbled. "Don't you think so, dear?"

"I'm not sure," the second replied. "There's a _little_ bit of Doggo, but I don't recognize the rest of the scent at all…"

The first dog turned to Sans. "Are you sure this guy's okay, Sans? Something about him rubs me the wrong way."

"The right way is petting," the second dog quickly supplied.

Sans chuckled again. "Yeah, he's harmless. He's like a weird puppy. An old puppy."

Toriel raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that just a dog?"

"Nah."

"Anyway," the first dog said, looking Grandt over more closely, "how can we trust that this… this strange creature won't go into Snowdin and cause a ruckus?"

"'A ruckus'?" the second dog said incredulously. "Really, Dogamy?"

"Yes, a ruckus!" Dogamy stamped his foot in the snow. "Sure, Sans says he's fine, but who's to say he's not just playing Sans for a fool?"

Toriel crossed her arms. "And why am _I_ given a free pass?"

"You're a Boss Monster," the second dog said blandly. "Also, we know who you are."

"Really? But how?"

"We placed second in the 1998 Nose Nuzzle Championships." The second dog pointed at her. "You placed first."

Toriel blinked, staring at the two for a moment before realization showed in her eyes. "Wait… Dogamy? Dogaressa? Is that really you?"

The two dogs threw off their hoods, revealing that they looked almost identical. The only real difference was that Dogamy had a pronounced cowlick and a small fake moustache, while Dogaressa had more pointed eyelashes.

"Good to see you again, Toriel," Dogamy said cheerfully. "We all got worried when you went and holed yourself up in the Ruins." Then he looked over at the very confused Grandt. "I guess this weird guy's your friend?"

"Yes," Toriel replied. "I trust him well enough. His scent's a bit odd, but that's just because he was living in the Ruins for a while."

"Really?" Dogaressa looked at him more closely. "Because he almost looks like a human."

 _Almost?_ Grandt thought. _What part about me doesn't look human?_

"Papyrus and I sorta look like humans," Sans pointed out. "Does that mean we can't go into town anymore?"

Dogamy opened his mouth to retort, but then he slowly closed it. He looked over Grandt for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right words, before completely giving up.

"Alright," he sighed. "If you're both going to vouch for him, I'm not going to hold you up any longer. All it'd do is cause a kerfuffle."

"'A kerfuffle'?" Dogaressa asked teasingly.

"Yes, a–" Dogamy stopped himself. "You know what? Never mind. You all can go on ahead if you want. It's clear you've no intent in harming anyone."

"Um… Thank you," Grandt murmured, looking between the two a bit nervously. "In that case, we'll just go…"

As they began walking away, though, Dogaressa suddenly shouted from behind them, "Hold on a moment, please!"

They turned around, and she smiled. "It's good to have you back, Toriel. We were all afraid you wouldn't ever leave the Ruins."

"That's right," Dogamy added. "Despite your odd choice in friends, we're just glad to know you're safe."

Toriel smiled back. "Thank you both," she said. "Honestly… it is good to be back."

* * *

 **AN: Progress is always fun. Also, I'm trying to work little bits of characterization into some of the minor characters and minibosses, just to give them a bit more personality. Dogamy and Dogaressa seem to be the most intelligent of the Snowdin Canine Unit, so I chose to build on that and to make them a bit more cynical than they are in the game - mostly because Grandt never realized that he should pet them.**

 **Papyrus's spaghetti is pretty bad. Not the _worst_ thing in existence, but undercooked pasta isn't all that good. On the plus side, Undyne hasn't yet showed him how to "properly" cook, so nobody's going to die because of it.**

 **Lesser Dog will appear eventually, but for now I decided to leave him out.**

 **Dogamy and Dogaressa would logically know Toriel. They participated in the same competition, meaning they were alive back when Toriel ruled the Underground with Asgore. Coincidentally, it also means that they're possibly the oldest members of the Canine Unit, so I decided to build a bit on both ideas by having Dogamy use some outdated language. I don't imagine they're _especially_ old (only in their mid-thirties, probably, so they're still relatively young), but it's still fun to play around with.**

 **As always, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, followed, or even just read this story! I'll see you all next week for further progress towards Snowdin!**


	11. Chapter 2-7

"So I take it you were in the Ruins for a long time, Toriel?" Grandt asked as they walked away from the guard dogs.

"Yes. I sealed myself away in them about twelve years ago." Toriel shook her head. "Honestly, I never planned to leave."

"I can't imagine how lonely it must have gotten."

"It wasn't that bad," Toriel replied, smiling a bit. "Many of the monsters with me were very friendly, and of course Sans visited often."

"Once a day, every day," Sans added with a chuckle. "Somehow, we never ran out of jokes."

Grandt idly stroked his beard. "In that case, it sounds pretty nice." He paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully. "Still, I have to wonder why you holed yourself away in the first place. I can't imagine it was just for fun."

Toriel didn't respond. She just looked down at the snow.

Grandt shook his head. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine."

"No, it is not that," Toriel replied. "It's just… It's complicated."

"I understand." Grandt looked over at her. "Just… No, don't worry about it. If you ever want to say anything, though… Well," he added with a quiet chuckle, "I'm all ears."

Toriel smiled slightly. "I will try to remember that."

Sans stopped ahead of them. "Oh, hey. It's a puzzle."

"Another one?" Grandt asked, turning his head forward.

"Looks like it."

"Huh."

Indeed, just ahead of the trio sat a simple-looking puzzle. There was a group of large rocks arranged in a pattern that resembled a sideways "H," or at least a short, very fat "I." From his current position, Grandt could see that inside the alcoves of the rock pattern, there were a pair of switches, each marked with a large blue "X." Aside from the letters themselves, the switches were almost the exact same color as the surrounding snow.

Sitting in the snow directly above the puzzle was another switch. This one, however, was much more visible, most likely because it lacked any sort of symbol of its own. Below the puzzle was a sign, and off to the side, Grandt could see a barricade of tall spikes that jutted out from the snow.

Grandt sighed and began walking down towards the sign. "Alright, let's see… 'Turn every X into an O. Then press the switch.'" He looked up, eyebrow cocked. "Turn them into 'O's? How in the world do you do that?"

Sans shrugged. "Why not give it a try for yourself?"

"Alright," Grandt replied.

He ran a hand through his beard as he briefly thought it over. Did he just have to step on the switches? Would that change their symbols? If nothing else, it was at least worth a try.

Grandt stepped over to one of the two marked switches inside the fat "I." He slowly set his foot on it, pressing down only when he was certain that he was completely safe in doing so. For a moment, there was no obvious change. Then there was a soft, barely audible click, and the image on the switch completely changed.

The lines on the "X" shifted, moving out towards the edge of the switch and becoming softer and rounder. The color shifted from blue to red. In a matter of mere seconds, the shape had completely changed from an "X" to an "O."

Grandt stared at it for a moment, and then he shrugged and stepped over to the other switch. He stepped on it more casually this time, knowing that if nothing else, at least it wasn't a disguised mine or something of the sort. Once again, the symbol shifted.

 _That should be both of them,_ Grandt thought to himself. _Now I just have to step on this switch over here, right?_

He walked through the ankle-deep snow to reach the silver switch. There were a few rust marks on it – signs that it had not been painted, and that the silver was its normal color –, but overall it seemed to be in working condition. Grandt placed his foot on the switch and pushed it down harshly, earning a jolt of surprise when it lowered much more easily than he'd expected. In the same way someone may have stumbled at the bottom of a staircase because they believed there were still steps left to go, Grandt stumbled forward a bit. Fortunately, he caught himself before he plunged face-first into the snow.

Toriel hurried over to him. "Are you okay?" she asked, looking incredibly worried.

"Y-yeah…" Grandt replied uneasily. He could feel his heart beating quickly in his chest, but the pulse quickly returned to normal. "I should be fine, now."

"What happened?"

Grandt sighed and rubbed the back of his head. "I thought that switch would be harder to push in. Turns out it wasn't."

"Heh, hard or not, ya got the way forward open," Sans said, gesturing towards the barricade.

Grandt turned around. Sure enough, the spikes had retreated into the ground, leaving the path ahead open.

"Well, that's a relief, if nothing else," Grandt muttered.

They passed the now-open barricade and walked further down the snow-covered path, stopping when they saw Papyrus standing by what looked like another puzzle, arms crossed.

"Hey, Bro," Sans said casually as they stepped over to him. "You look puzzled."

Papyrus turned around suddenly. "Sans!" he bellowed, stamping his foot in the snow. "Where have you been?!"

"Snowdin Forest."

" _That's not what I meant_! I–" Papyrus stopped as soon as he noticed Grandt, and he blinked.

"Human!" he gasped. "How in the world did you avoid my trap?!"

Grandt placed a hand on his chin. "Your trap? Oh, you mean the spaghetti?"

"That's the one! It took me five whole minutes to make it!" Papyrus added proudly.

"I could, ah… I could tell." Grandt reached into his pocket. "I had a bit," he explained, pulling out the frozen chunk of undercooked pasta, "but I wanted to get to Snowdin quickly, so I took some for the road."

"You can _do_ that?!" Papyrus cried, excitement showing in his eyes. "Wowie… I never realized the possibilities of travel spaghetti!"

"The _pasta_ -bilities?" Toriel offered, giggling.

"No, of course not!" Papyrus replied. "Human, don't worry about ever running out! I, master chef Papyrus, will make you all the spaghetti that you could ever want!"

Grandt smiled. "Good. And I, mediocre chef–"

Toriel coughed.

"– _moderately above average_ chef Grandt," he corrected, "will be more than happy to give you some pointers if you want."

"Can you cook spaghetti?" Papyrus asked.

"Yes."

"Oh my God,you're the best human _ever_!"

Grandt rubbed the back of his head, feeling a bit embarrassed by the sudden praise. "Well, I'd hardly call myself… In any case, about the puzzle behind you…?"

Papyrus gasped and turned to Sans. "Sans, look! He's just like me!" He turned Grandt around so they were standing side-to-side. "We're both tall, combat experts, great chefs, puzzle lovers, bald… And we both have skeletons! It's like we're the same person, only completely different in multiple ways!"

Sans choked.

Toriel excused herself to laugh uncontrollably.

Grandt shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling very aware of every visible liver spot on his head – which was to say, every liver spot on his head.

"Er… So about that puzzle…"

"Right, right," Papyrus answered, eyes gleaming excitedly. "You were all taking so long to get here that I decided to improve this puzzle by making it look more like my face. Now the snow froze to the ground, so the solution's completely different. Fear not, though!" He tapped his chest. "I will solve it quickly so that we can move forward! Meanwhile, feel free to try the puzzle yourself. I'll try not to give away the answer."

Grandt nodded. "Alright… Well in that case, let's see if I can't solve this one, too."

He stepped over to the large puzzle – which, Grandt had to admit, _did_ in fact resemble Papyrus's face – and began his attempt to solve it. It looked to have the same "'X's to 'O's" trick that the last puzzle had, albeit on a larger and more complicated scale. It more resembled a maze than anything, so it only made sense for him to try and map it out a bit before he stepped through.

Then Grandt took a step forward regardless, deciding that, while he could take the time to map it out and plan his every move, it would not be a bad idea to at least get a feel for the puzzle before he did so.

He stepped forward calmly. Grandt could feel everyone's eyes boring into the back of his head, but he wasn't about to let that affect his performance. At least, not too badly.

Grandt walked through the maze, stepping on the blue "X"s and turning them into red "O"s without too much difficulty. He worked out his position as he went along. After all, he didn't want to corner himself, or he would certainly fail the puzzle.

And then he cornered himself, anyway. There were rocks to his left and right, and "O"s both in front of and behind him. Grandt groaned when he realized there was no direction he could go without stepping on an "O" again. He stood still for a while and rubbed his temples.

"I think I failed the puzzle," he announced, frustrated.

"Nah, you got it. You hit all the switches, didn't ya?"

"Sans, there's no direction I can go." Grandt sighed and leaned himself against one of the rocks. "Here – I'll come back, and I'll try it again."

Sans chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Just stay where you are."

He walked over to the silver switch, hands in pockets, and stepped on it. There was a sharp click as the "O"s all turned yellow, followed by the sound of metal against metal as the spikes descended back into the ground.

" _Sans_!" Papyrus cried, looking mortified. "You… You can't do that!"

"Sure I can. I just did."

" _That's not what I meant_!" Papyrus stamped his foot in the snow. "You just cheated!"

"How?" Sans winked. "The rules don't say anything against it."

"It's just not in the spirit of things! Imagine if you were telling one of your dumb jokes, and I came around and spoiled the punchline! Wouldn't _you_ be angry?"

"Nah, I'd just tell another joke."

"Well I can't just–!"

"Um… I'm sorry, Papyrus," Grandt said, drawing their attention to himself. "If you want, I can redo the puzzle."

Papyrus stared at him for a moment, and then he sighed. "No, that's fine. It's not your fault that my silly brother chose to ruin it for you." He clapped his hands together, suddenly looking excited. "Oh, I just had a great idea! I've got a much better puzzle just ahead that I'm sure you'll love! Yeah, it'll be _much_ better than this old thing! And for someone who loves puzzles as much as you, it'll be perfect!"

Nyeh-ing and heh-ing, Papyrus ran off towards where the barricade had once been. He vanished into the distance, looking positively giddy with himself.

Grandt walked out of the puzzle and over to Sans. "Did you really need to do that?"

"Eh, probably not," Sans replied, shrugging.

"Then why?"

Sans winked. "Well in this case, it's my fault for cheating instead of yours for failing."

"Papyrus doesn't strike me as someone who'd get angry about failure."

"He isn't. He'd be disappointed, though."

Grandt slowly nodded. "I see… Well, thank you for helping me."

"Sure thing." Sans's grin seemed to grow. "Next time you mess up on a puzzle, I'll be there to give you a hand."

"… what do you mean, 'next time'?"

Sans chuckled.

Toriel stepped back in, hand clutched over her mouth and cheeks bright red. "Alright, I'm good," she said, clearly trying (and failing) to stifle her giggles. Then she lowered her hand and looked around. "Where is Papyrus?"

"He left," Sans said. "Grandt and I solved the puzzle."

"Sans cheated," Grandt deadpanned.

Toriel looked over at Sans, clearly taken aback. " _What_?"

"I helped Grandt solve the puzzle," Sans explained. "Papyrus wasn't too happy about it."

"Is he going to be okay?" Toriel asked.

"Papyrus? Please." Sans winked. "He'll forget about it soon. I can't think of a single time he's ever held a grudge."

Toriel sighed. "Well, that is a relief. Now what?"

"We keep going forward," Grandt replied, and he began walking. "Papyrus said he's got a great puzzle up ahead." He grinned. "And honestly, I'm a bit excited to see what it is."

* * *

 **AN: This chapter was hard. I don't know what made it so difficult, but it was much harder to write than anything that came before it.** **That being said, Papyrus is incredibly fun to write, and the banter between him and Sans is even more so.**

 **Also, more progress. I swear we'll reach Snowdin soon, guys.**

 **But until then, thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read this story up to this point! I'll see you all next week for when I'll hopefully have an easier time!**


	12. Chapter 2-8

When Grandt and the others stepped forward and passed by the now-down barricade, they found themselves at the edge of another steep cliff. There was a bridge – again, looking like someone or something had spilled brown paint on it at points – that covered the gap, and on the other side stood a giddy Papyrus and a large machine. The snow had seemingly been replaced by a series of monochromatic tiles, six down and eight across, which sat directly against the edges of the cliff on each side, until it stopped where Papyrus and the machine stood. From there on, the path continued forward, and the ground had become snow again.

"Hey, Human!" Papyrus cried, eyes sparkling. "You're gonna love this puzzle! It was made by the great Dr. Alphys!"

"Dr. Alphys?" Grandt asked.

"The royal scientist," Sans explained.

Grandt raised an eyebrow. "You have a royal scientist?"

"Of course not. The _royals_ do."

Grandt grimaced and placed a hand to his forehead. "I hate you so much."

"No you don't," Sans replied, grinning.

"So, Papyrus," Toriel said quickly, "what is this great puzzle of yours?"

Papyrus nodded. "I'm glad you asked! Well, you see these tiles?" He gestured at the area in front of him. "Once I throw this switch, they will begin to change color! Each color has a different function! Red tiles are impassable! You cannot walk on them! Yellow tiles are electric! They will electrocute you! Green tiles are alarm tiles! If you step on them, you will have to fight a monster! Orange tiles are orange-scented. They will make you smell delicious! Blue tiles are water tiles. Swim through if you like, but if you smell like oranges! The piranhas will bite you. Also, if a blue tiles is next to a yellow tile, the water will also zap you! Purple tiles are slippery! You will slide to the next tile! However, the slippery soap smells like lemons! Which piranhas do not like! Purple and blue are okay! Finally, pink tiles. They don't do anything. Step on them all you like."

Papyrus clapped his hands. "So do you understand?"

Grandt blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Red tiles are–"

"No, no!" Grandt waved his hands frantically. "You don't need to repeat it! I, uh… I understand."

"Oh, great!" Papyrus said. "Then there's one last thing!"

There was _more_?

"This puzzle," Papyrus continued with a slight flourish, "is entirely random! When I pull this switch –" he gestured to the nearby machine "– it will make a puzzle that no one has seen before! Not even I will know the solution!"

Toriel stared at him for a moment. "Don't you think this puzzle is a bit… difficult?"

"Silly shaved Asgore!" Papyrus chastised. "Who ever heard of an easy puzzle?"

"That's not what I meant," Toriel said, evidently brushing off the "shaved Asgore" bit. "I mean, do you not think that this puzzle is a significant step up from the previous ones?"

Papyrus nodded. "Well, that's the point. Sans cheated the human out of a fun, difficult experience, so the human gets a _better_ puzzle instead!" His eyes seemed to light up a bit. "Also, I finally get to try out this puzzle idea! So thanks, Sans!"

"Yes, _thanks_ , Sans," Grandt muttered.

"You're welcome."

Grandt sighed and ran a hand over his forehead. Why did it seem that everything was going wrong? Certainly, he was enjoying himself to some extent, but it felt as though the cosmos themselves were conspiring to give him the most difficult time imaginable. Or maybe it was just Sans.

It was probably just Sans.

Papyrus placed his hand on the lever. "Nyeh-heh-heh! Get ready!"

He pulled down, and Grandt noticed that the tiles began to shift. At first it was slow, with each change coming every few seconds. Then the speed increased, and Grandt could only watch in shock as the colors shifted rapidly. Red became green became blue became yellow became red again, all in the span of a single second. Grandt didn't even want to blink for fear that he'd miss something important.

And then, just as suddenly as it began to shift, the puzzle came to a sharp, immediate stop.

Grandt blinked. The stop had been so sudden that he feared it may have given him whiplash. It was clearly the only explanation for the ridiculousness of the new, apparently random configuration. That, or the machine was defective.

He looked to either side. Toriel stood speechless, jaw-dropped and wide-eyed. Sans, on the other hand, was clearly trying to keep himself from laughing. Papyrus merely stared for a moment before he turned around and walked out of the area completely. Not that Grandt blamed him, of course.

After all, every tile was orange.

Grandt stared at the puzzle for a moment. "This is dumb."

"You're gonna complain that the puzzle's easy?" Sans asked.

"This isn't even a puzzle," Grandt muttered. "It's just… It's stupid. It'd be like if I told you to 'solve the puzzle' and then handed you an unopened bottle of ketchup."

Sans chuckled. "Sounds challenging."

"Don't even start." Grandt rubbed his forehead slowly. "Alright, let's just… Let's just get this over with."

"Yes," Toriel said, smirking a bit. "Let's open the ketchup bottle."

Grandt, Sans, and Toriel began to walk across the field of orange. Every step forward sent up a spray of some sort of orange-scented gas that covered them from head to toe. It was a difficult ordeal, but through sheer determination, they managed to reach the other side unscathed.

"So, Grandt," Sans said casually when they reached the other end, "how're you holding up?"

"Scent aside," Grandt replied, taking a moment to sniff his arm, "not too bad."

"I don't know," Toriel teased. "I think you smell delicious."

Grandt grimaced. "Don't _you_ start, either."

Toriel just giggled.

"In any case," Grandt said, "we should probably keep going." He turned to Sans. "Are we getting close to Snowdin?"

"Yep. Really close."

"That's good," Grandt murmured. He leaned back against the machine and shifted his legs.

Toriel looked over at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. My legs are just a bit sore, is all." Grandt chuckled. "I guess I'm not used to walking this much. Especially not through all this snow…"

"Do you need to take a break?" Toriel asked, looking concerned. "We can stop for a few minutes if you–"

"No, it's fine," Grandt replied. He stood up tall and stretched his legs out a bit. "I can rest when we get to Snowdin."

"Are you sure?"

Grandt nodded. "A few days ago, I climbed halfway up Mt. Ebott without a guide. I'll be fine walking just a bit longer." He chuckled again. "Of course, one of you might have to carry me when we get there."

"Sure thing," Sans said, "but I'll probably wind up dragging your head through the snow."

Grandt grinned. "That's good. It might wash off the smell."

"What, ya don't like being orange-scented?"

"Well, it could be a problem if we come across piranhas," Toriel supplied.

Grandt pushed himself away from the machine. He stood tall for a moment, ignoring the slight pain and stiffness in his legs as he took a few steps forward. His legs felt heavy in the snow. Heavier than before, at any rate.

"Alright," Grandt said. "Let's finish this up and get to town."

They walked on down the path, not bothering to look back at the field of orange tiles as they went. Instead, they focused on the area in front of them, which gradually shifted from the edge of a cliff into another large, open area with a large cluster of trees to the side. There was another guard station near the trees with yet another sign beside it. Grandt could see one of those dog monsters inside the station, panting with its tongue out.

The dog seemed to notice their approach, and it began barking excitedly. Unlike any of the others, it didn't say anything. In fact, based on its current behavior, Grandt questioned if it was capable of speech at all.

That idea was only reinforced by the sign next to it, which read, "AWARE OF DOG! pleas pet dog," in awkward, scribbled letters. At the very least, it was apparently literate. Not particularly intelligent, but literate.

"Oh, hey, Lesser Dog," Sans said.

Grandt raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit rude, don't you think?"

"Nah, that's just its name."

"You're kidding."

"Nope." Sans walked over to the barking dog, which suddenly began to vibrate. "It can't talk, so Undyne just calls it 'Lesser Dog.' The name kinda stuck."

"Undyne?" Grandt asked.

"Captain of the Royal Guard," Sans explained.

"Huh." There was a pause. "So another question."

"Go for it."

"This dog can't speak," Grandt said, "and it doesn't seem too reliable in a fight."

"That's right," Sans replied, now casually petting Lesser Dog.

Grandt crossed his arms. "So I guess the thing I'm asking is… Well, how weak is Papyrus if this dog can get into the Royal Guard before _he_ does?"

Sans paused in his petting, which caused the Lesser Dog to let out a small cry. He turned to Grandt and looked him in the eyes. For about a minute, there was no sound except for the weak cries of Lesser Dog. Grandt's heart began to pound in his chest as Sans just kept staring at him wordlessly.

Then Sans winked. "Yeah, Papyrus is pretty weak."

Grandt breathed out a slow, quiet sigh of relief. For a moment, he'd been afraid that he'd offended Sans, but it seemed as though that wasn't the case.

"In any case," Toriel said quickly, "perhaps we should keep moving. Grandt, how are your legs?"

"They're fine," he replied. "Still a bit tired, but nothing too bad. I can make it."

"That's good. Just let us know if you need to take a break, alright?"

Grandt nodded. "Alright. Thank you."

He stepped forward a bit. His legs were a bit stiffer now, but that could easily be fixed. It was the pain that worried him, along with the fact that a lengthy break would mean less time that he could spend getting out of the Underground.

The three left again, thanking Lesser Dog for not stopping them with more pets – and Grandt could have sworn that its neck had gotten longer since they got there, but that was ridiculous, right? – before they got on their way.

They walked further down the snowy trail. The trees continued to their left, but the path ahead got narrower and the cliff seemed to grow steeper as they went along. Then, once more, the area suddenly got wider, giving the three more room to breathe.

There was another set of switches marked with "X"s in front of them, this time set into a large sheet of ice. This time, there didn't seem to be any signs telling them what to do, but Grandt had seen this puzzle enough times that he understood how to solve it.

He stepped forward and examined the area carefully. To the right sat a downward slope, but Grandt ignored it. After all, the puzzles always seemed to mark the way forward.

"You think you got this?" Sans asked.

"I should," Grandt replied, looking over the ice carefully. "It doesn't look particularly difficult."

Sans chuckled. "Then go for it. Open that ketchup bottle."

Grandt grimaced. "Alright then… Let's see, here…"

He took a single step onto the ice and slid forward, stopping only when he hit a switch. As before, the switch's color and shape changed from a blue "X" to a red "O."

"There we go," Grandt said, grinning to himself. "If I keep slipping until I hit a switch, then the next logical step should be…"

He stepped forward again. Then when he hit the next switch, he moved to his left, and then to his left again, and so on and so forth. Grandt followed the natural and logical lines from one switch to the next, until he finally hit the metallic button at the very end. The ordeal had taken maybe a minute or two at most.

As soon as he touched the last switch, a low rumbling began to sound throughout the area. Suddenly, the ground before him extended outward and linked itself to another snowy cliff a good distance away. The two pieces locked together perfectly, to the point where anyone looking at it now would have no way of knowing that they had ever been separated. Grandt stared at it for a moment before he turned around and slid back towards Sans and Toriel.

"Hey, good job," Sans said when he got back. "It's almost like you knew what you were doing."

"Thanks," Grandt replied a bit sarcastically. "I try."

"I can tell." Sans looked on ahead. "But really, that was pretty good. You didn't even need my help this time." He turned back to Grandt and winked. "Which is great, 'cause I love doing absolutely nothing."

Grandt rubbed the back of his head, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Um… Thank you, Sans."

"But you still smell delicious," Sans said casually as he walked by and slid off towards the newly formed bridge.

Grandt sighed. "Well, at least I have _something_ going for me."

"You have a lot of things going for you," Toriel said, smiling as she stepped up next to him. She extended a hand. "Now, then… Shall we?"

Grandt looked at her for a moment, and then he smiled back and took her hand. "Alright. Let's go."

And then they both stepped onto the ice and slid forward, making their way ever closer to Snowdin.

* * *

 **AN: This chapter went on for longer than I'd initially planned. At first, it was only supposed to cover Papyrus's tile puzzle and the meeting with Lesser Dog, but it wound up being too short, so I added the puzzle at the end to give it just a bit more meat. On the plus side, that means that the next chapter will be the one where we finally finish off Snowdin Forest!**

 **The tile puzzle was probably my favorite part of this chapter. While I enjoyed writing out Lesser Dog's scene and the ice-physics switch puzzle, they were much more difficult to write (and much shorter) than that piece. Not to mention that Papyrus is just ridiculously fun to write.**

 **As far as the scene with Lesser Dog is concerned, I initially wanted to make it a bit longer, but I ultimately didn't because there was no way for me to write that scene without making it feel like padding. Grandt isn't the kind of guy who would stop just to play with a dog for a bit, especially not when he's starting to get tired, so I let the scene remain short. Likewise, the ice-physics puzzle is very simple in the game, so I thought I'd have that carry over to the scene itself by making it short and sweet. And orange-scented, of course.**

 **As always, thanks to all of you who have favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read this story up to this point! I always get really excited to see that people enjoy what I've written. And of course, I'll see you all next time, for when we finally finish off Snowdin Forest and make our way into Snowdin!**


	13. Chapter 2-9

"What's with all the piles of snow?" Grandt asked Toriel as they walked across another large, open plateau.

"Those are snow poffs, Grandt," Toriel explained.

"Snow poffs?"

"Yep," Sans replied, suddenly walking right next to them. "They're poffs made of snow."

Grandt jumped. "How do you do that?!"

"Well, first you take a bunch of snow–"

"That's not what I meant!" Grandt sighed. "I just… No, never mind."

He ran a hand over his forehead and looked around the area a bit. To Sans and Toriel, it would appear as though he was merely looking around the area to get a feel for it. While that was partially the case, Grandt's main focus was on Sans's footprints in the snow. His and Toriel's prints were both clearly visible, so hopefully it wasn't too much to expect that Sans's would be, too.

Sure enough, close inspection revealed that Sans _had_ left footprints behind, which started from slightly behind where he'd startled Grandt and continued forward from there on. He clearly hadn't walked up behind them, then. If he had, his footprints would have been visible in the snow along with Grandt's and Toriel's.

But they weren't. And as Grandt remembered from back when he was a soldier, the absence of footsteps was not to be taken lightly. It meant one of three things: the subject walked slowly and stealthily enough to avoid leaving prints, the subject had some means of flight or similar travel, or the subject had access to teleportation magic. The first could be ruled out completely – the snow was so soft that any movement would leave a mark, no matter how soft. That left the second and third as the most likely cases.

Sans couldn't have just flown down, though, right? That would've probably made _some_ sound, at least. Then again, so would teleporting. So how had Sans done it without making any noise at all? It was curious, to say the–

"Uh, Grandt, why are you staring at me?"

Grandt blinked and came back to reality.

"I mean, I know I'm handsome and all," Sans added with a wink, "but it's impolite to stare."

"N-no, that's not it," Grandt replied, embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his head and continued, "I was just looking around this area, that's all."

"Uh-huh."

"Yes!" Grandt said a bit more forcefully than he'd intended. "Look – that doghouse, for example."

"I'm lookin'."

"Well, it's rather small, don't you think?" Grandt walked over to it and got down on one knee to look inside. His legs cracked audibly, and he could barely see Toriel wince out of the corner of his eye.

"I can't really imagine there's a sentry here. A normal dog, sure, but not a sentry." Grandt adjusted himself so he could see further inside, when something caught his eye. "In fact, I'd… Hm? What's this?"

He reached inside the doghouse and picked his fingers through the snow. His fingers closed around the thing he saw within – a crumpled, soaked ball of paper –, and he pulled it out and began to unfurl it. The edges peeled back easily enough, minor tears aside. Unfortunately, the moisture had caused the ink to run down the paper, leaving it completely illegible. All Grandt could make out was something like a large square on the left side of the paper, a massive block of what looked vaguely like letters by the middle, and a strip at the top where multiple colors bled into each other.

Grandt simply stared at the paper for a moment, wondering if it meant something – the solution to a puzzle, perhaps, or some other cryptic hint –, before the realization of what it used to be suddenly hit. A smile slowly crept across his face. Then Grandt slowly crumpled the paper back up again and replaced it in its original position.

 _I guess it went farther than I expected,_ he thought, chuckling to himself as he stood back up.

There was another crack as Grandt's legs straightened, this time sending a sharp jolt of pain through his lower body. His legs collapsed beneath him, and only grabbing on to the roof of the doghouse kept him from falling completely. Even so, his legs splayed out in the snow, stiff and throbbing from pain. Then the pain slowly faded away, and they went completely numb.

"Grandt!" Toriel cried, and she ran over to him. "What happened?!"

"It's my legs," he gasped. "Something's wrong with them!"

Grandt struggled to push himself into a more comfortable position, but his hands slipped from the doghouse and he fell forward onto the snow face-first. For just a moment Grandt, was thankful that it hadn't been stone or concrete.

"Here – let me help you!"

Toriel placed her arms beneath Grandt's and slowly guided him upward. She sat him back against the side of the doghouse, setting his legs out in front of him. Then she sat down beside him.

"Th-thank you," he said, finally able to catch his breath.

"Do you have any idea what might have happened?" Toriel asked.

He grit his teeth. "No. Nothing like this has ever happened before. I've never… I've never lost the ability to move them like this." He placed a hand against his forehead. "I can't even feel them…"

"They've gone numb?"

"Just below my thighs," Grandt replied. "Everything above that's fine, but… What the hell's going on?!" He tightened the grip on his head a bit. "Nothing like this has ever happened before!"

He could suddenly see something in his mind's eye. Visions of men whose legs had been shot out from under them. Whose legs had been cut off. Whose legs had been burned or frozen or broken so utterly that no amount of surgery would ever fix them. He could see gangrenous limbs and bones stabbing out from skin. He could see people who would rather be dead, for their bodies were ruined beyond repair.

 _You know, Private Journa, it's not uncommon for soldiers here to lose a limb or two by the time they retire. If they retire._

His breaths became shallow and ragged. Grandt's fingers dug into the snow as visions of amputated limbs passed through his mind. Would that be him? Would his legs need to be sawn off? Would he–

"Calm down, Grandt!" Toriel shouted. "You're breathing too quickly; your heart rate is going to spike again!"

Grandt froze in place. He could feel it pounding in his chest, fed by his worries, his fears, his rage. It was faster than it should have been. Much faster.

 _Too fast._

He took a long, deep breath in and released it. Grandt repeated this motion again and again, until at last his heart's beat slowed to its normal pace.

Toriel smiled. "There. Do you feel better?"

"A bit," Grandt admitted.

"Good. Now, let's see…"

Toriel reached out and gingerly touched Grandt's left knee. "Can you feel this?"

"No, not there."

She moved her hand up a bit, toward his kneecap. "What about here?"

Grandt just shook his head.

"Alright…" Toriel touched his lower thigh. "And here?"

"Yes, I can feel that." Grandt grimaced. "I can feel it perfectly."

"Can you move it?"

Grandt turned his thigh a little bit to the left. "Yeah."

"Good," Toriel said. "Now then, if it starts at around your knees, it could be a result of your joints locking up."

"Nah, I don't think so," Sans said, and he casually walked over. "He probably wouldn't go numb if his joints were just screwed up."

Grandt nodded. "Yes, that's what I was thinking." He reached out and touched his kneecap. "I've had joint pain before, and I've still felt every second of it. Unfortunately," he added dryly.

"Then what do you think happened?" Toriel asked.

"I don't know," Grandt replied. "Just… I don't know. I know they didn't just fall asleep; there was too much pain for that."

Toriel placed a hand to her chin. "I might have to look at your legs more closely. Do you mind if I roll up your pant legs a bit?"

"Go for it."

Toriel nodded and got to work. It took her some time, as his hiking boots covered about half of each knee, but she finally managed to expose a small bit of skin. She stared at it for a long time and then turned and exchanged a quick glance with Sans.

"What's wrong?" Grandt asked, feeling more than a bit anxious.

"It's… discolored," Toriel answered.

"Discolored?" Grandt paused for a few seconds. "Do you think the circulation was cut off?"

"I-I am not sure," Toriel admitted. "I would assume so, but I have never really seen anything like this firsthand."

"Then here," Grandt said. He leaned over a bit further and took hold of the rolled up area. "I'll finish this off."

Toriel looked up and met his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I can reach it now." Grandt began pulling it up further until it went to just below his kneecap. "Besides, it's hardly fair to force you to take care of me like this."

"You're not forcing me to do anything," Toriel pointed out.

Grandt nodded and forced the rolled up area over his kneecap. "Maybe not, but it almost feels like–" He cut himself off suddenly as his skin came into view. "Wait, what…?"

Just above his kneecap was a thin, green band that was wrapped tightly around his skin. The area above it looked normal, but the area below it was completely discolored. He reached down and tried to tear it off. Unfortunately, it was so tight that he couldn't even get his fingernail beneath it.

Toriel examined it closely. "So that's the cause, then? Grandt, you didn't put this on, did you?"

"No," he said. "Honestly, I've never seen it before. I don't even know how it got there." He paused, and then he looked up from it. "Do you have a knife? Or anything sharp I can use to cut it off?"

Toriel shook her head.

"What about you, Sans?"

"Sure." Sans walked over and looked down at his leg. "I can cut it off if ya want. Can't guarantee I won't cut your leg, though."

Grandt grinned. "That's fine. I won't be able to feel it, anyway."

"Are ya sure?"

"Of course. I'd rather have a cut than gangrene."

Sans chuckled. "Alright…"

He placed a hand on Grandt's kneecap, and Grandt noticed for the first time how sharp Sans's fingers were. Then Sans placed a finger against the band and suddenly brought it down, severing it and leaving a small cut on Grandt's skin. The band slipped from his leg and fell to the snow below, now tinged with a bit of red.

Grandt rubbed the spot where it had been. The skin showed clear signs of being constricted, and even now he could tell that it was going to be uncomfortable when the numbness subsided. Blood trickled down from the cut, leaving Grandt to wonder whether or not Sans had meant to cause the injury. Sans _had_ warned him, though, so he at least deserved credit for that much. Not to mention that he'd gotten the band off in the first place, which was what really mattered.

"Thank you, Sans."

"What about your other leg?" Toriel asked.

"Ah, right." Grandt reached down and grabbed a bunch of cloth near the bottom of his right pant leg. Slowly, methodically, he pulled it up until his right kneecap and the area above it were both visible.

Sure enough, there was a second green band. It almost looked like it was wrapped even tighter than the one before, though Grandt reasoned that it was unlikely. After all, how much tighter could it get?

Sans placed his fingers against Grandt's kneecap. "You ready?"

Grandt simply nodded.

There was the sharp, swift sound of something being cut, and then the thin band unwrapped itself from Grandt's leg and joined its companion in the snow. Grandt rubbed the area again. His skin was still obviously constricted, but the cut on his leg was smaller than before. It still bled, of course, and the band was still tinged red. Beyond that, however, it was noticeably shallower and thinner.

Grandt looked up at Sans with a grateful smile. "Thank you again. Now…" He trailed off for a moment. "How in the world did those things get on me, anyway? And what _are_ they?"

He reached into the snow and picked up one of the bands. He held it for a moment between his fingers, scrutinizing it closely.

It was strange. It felt almost like some kind of ribbon – it was thin enough to be ribbon, if nothing else –, but closer inspection revealed that it was actually a long strand of grass.

He'd never put it on, so how had it gotten there? One leg he could perhaps write off as a coincidence – perhaps he'd fallen or something of the sort –, but two? It being on both legs showed that something had been trying to slow him down. It being on both legs showed that something had been explicitly trying to mess with him, to break him down, to force him to stop walking.

But why? And what would desire that? _Who_ would desire that? And why would they use…

"Oh my God…" Grandt muttered, and he pressed a hand up against his forehead. "Oh my _God_ …"

"Are you alright, Grandt?" Toriel asked, frowning.

"Ah… Yes," he lied, and then he changed the subject to get his mind away from the most likely cause. "But we need to keep moving."

Toriel grimaced. "Not in your current condition. We can take a while to rest, and then when you can move your legs again–"

"No!" Grandt interrupted her. "We have to get to Snowdin. We can't stop! Not when we're so close!"

"You can't walk, Grandt!" Toriel replied, sounding almost like a mother trying to scold a petulant child. "Even if Snowdin's only a ten minute walk from here, that is still a distance you cannot cross!"

"Then I'll crawl!" Grandt snapped. His face shifted from defiant to depressed, and he leaned back against the doghouse and turned his head down. "We just… We can't stop. I can't…"

There was silence for a moment. Then Grandt breathed in deep, and he continued, "I don't have the time to rest. Not anymore."

There was another silence after that. This one was deeper, darker, reeking with the very concept of despair. It was a silence of a man who could wait no longer. It was a silence of quiet revelations. It was a silence for which even the howling wind stopped.

And then Grandt felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up, and there was Sans standing above him with his trademark grin. They did not exchange words. They didn't need to.

Sans singlehandedly pulled Grandt from the ground and wrapped his arm around Grandt's shoulders. Grandt did the same, leaning back against the doghouse to make sure he didn't fall. It was awkward, of course, given the height difference between the two, but somehow Sans was able to keep Grandt steady throughout the whole ordeal.

Sans looked over at Toriel. "Hey, wanna give me a hand?"

"Ah, of course," Toriel said, and she walked over and took Grandt's other arm over her shoulders.

So there Grandt stood, Sans on his left and Toriel on his right, both supporting him to make sure he didn't fall. They held him steady and stepped forward, bearing his weight while his legs hung down uselessly. Together, they walked out of the strange, poff-filled area. The doghouse and the green bands vanished into the distance as they kept going.

Grandt looked down, then, and he sighed. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Sans asked. "It wasn't your fault someone tried to screw up your legs, right? Besides," he added with a chuckle, "you're not too heavy. Probably the second skinniest chef I've ever seen."

Grandt smiled. "That's what happens when you try to stay healthy. If I was even a bit overweight, I'd probably not have made it this long."

"I guess not," Sans replied. "And anyway, it's not like I'm liftin' ya by myself. I conned Toriel into taking half the weight."

Toriel chose to ignore that comment. "So how long do you suspect it will take before your legs recover?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure." Grandt shook his head. "I'm not a doctor, and even when I fought, I never saw anyone's legs get like this. Bandits always preferred more… _direct_ ways of crippling people."

He saw Toriel shudder. "That being said," Grandt added, "I think I should be fine. As long as I'm standing up, the blood should have an easier time flowing back into my legs. Well, standing up or being in a standing position, at least." He looked back to Toriel. "So if I had to guess, I'd say it'll probably take a few hours. Maybe more, maybe less. But like I said, I'm not a doctor."

They began walking across a long wooden bridge, though Grandt could have sworn that it was a bit too stable for that. Then again, it wasn't like he could feel the ground right now, so who was he to say what felt stable or not?

"I'm glad to know that you will recover, at least," Toriel said, smiling over at him. "And besides, I carried you once before, remember? This time, I was at least able to convince Sans to carry half the weight."

Sans snorted. "Yeah, that's what happened."

They walked further over the oddly stable bridge, and then Grandt noticed Papyrus standing on the other side. He had that same excited gleam in his eyes as before.

"Human!" he cried. "Welcome to my final puz–" He cut himself off when he noticed Toriel and Sans standing on either side of Grandt. "Wait, what's going on? And what is that red stuff coming out of his legs? Is that normal for humans?"

"That's blood, Papyrus," Sans explained.

" _Blood_?!" Papyrus practically screamed. He ran across the bridge until he was directly in front of the others. "Oh my God! Human! Human, are you okay?!"

Grandt smiled a bit awkwardly. "I will be," he said. "But… Well, my legs don't work right now. I can't walk on my own."

"Why not?!" Papyrus whirled around and glared at his brother. "Sans! Did you do this?!" he demanded, gesturing at Grandt's legs.

"Nah. They stopped working 'cause someone screwed up the blood flow."

"Then why's he still bleeding?"

Grandt looked down at his legs for a moment. "There was still blood in them when it happened." He shrugged – a difficult thing to do given that both of his shoulders were occupied. "My legs got cut when I was trying to fix the problem, so they're going to bleed for a bit.

"Although," he added apologetically, "I'm sorry that I won't be able to do your puzzle, Papyrus. I'd love to give it a try, but if I can't move on my own, there's no way I can solve it correctly."

"Ah… N-no, not at all!" Papyrus said, flustered. "In fact, that puzzle was awful, anyhow. Far too easy to capture you with! I'm a skeleton with standards, after all!" He turned to the side and let his scarf blow in the wind. "Besides, there's no honor in capturing someone who can't fight back! It's like kicking a puppy, but instead of a puppy, you're a tall old guy with broken legs!"

"They're not broke–"

"Fear not, Human!" Papyrus shouted suddenly. "I, the great Papyrus, will see to your recovery myself! Then I can capture you without having to worry that you're not at your full power!"

Grandt shifted his head back a bit. "That's really not–"

"Nonsense!" Papyrus interrupted again. "It's been decided by me that you will come and rest at my house until your legs are completely fixed! I'll make sure to feed you well!"

Papyrus then reached out and grabbed Grandt from out between Sans and Toriel. Neither seemed to put up an especially large amount of resistance, so Grandt slipped out from their arms and into Papyrus's with no difficulty whatsoever. Papyrus readjusted his grip so that Grandt was in a bridal carry.

"Alright, Human!" he said, looking a bit too excited for his own good. "Let's go! Nyeh-heh-heh!"

He turned and ran off, Grandt protesting the entire way, leaving Sans and Toriel standing quiet and dumbfounded on the strange, stable bridge.

* * *

 **AN: This chapter caught me a bit by surprise. When I first started writing it, I didn't realize it was going to be this long. In fact, I thought about cutting it in half, but I ultimately decided against it so that we could get to Snowdin faster. I was worried that the scene with Papyrus at the end would run on a bit too long, but it wound up being shorter than I'd originally thought, so that was nice.**

 **Grandt's legs are going to be out of commission for a bit. Not forever, of course, but he won't be able to walk around too well for the next few updates. On the plus side, that means I can't waste too much time having him talk to every NPC in Snowdin. The rest of this chapter shouldn't take too long. There isn't much left beyond a few bits of exposition and character development.**

 **Once again, thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read this story, and I'll see you all next time for the first update that's actually set in Snowdin!**


	14. Chapter 2-10

Grandt lay back on a creased couch so that his head was propped up on one armrest and his legs were propped up on the other. Papyrus had been surprisingly gentle when it came to putting him down. He'd even gone so far as to ask whether Grandt was comfortable multiple times, and he'd turned on the television so that Grandt wouldn't grow bored. Unfortunately, nothing was on at the moment, so Papyrus had just crammed in a random DVD and hoped for the best.

Even more unfortunately, said DVD turned out to be for what was probably the worst cartoon Grandt had ever seen.

Everything about it just screamed of its shoddiness. The animation was stunted, the characters were all cookie-cutter and bland beyond belief, and the voice acting was atrocious. It was like he was watching a parody of bad cartoons, but no. This one took itself completely seriously.

Now, Grandt had never been a particularly large fan of cartoons in the first place. He didn't have anything against them, of course; he just had a hard time getting into them. For whatever reason, he just couldn't suspend his disbelief enough to accept that they could reasonably occur, even in another world. Time travel, healing magic, resurrection magic, monsters made of flesh and blood, holy swords that cut the dark, villains introducing themselves by literally stabbing previous villains in the back… Such things were too absurd for him to believe in.

They didn't happen in the real world, and even fiction made them look ridiculous. So how was Grandt supposed to believe in them? How was he supposed to see them as plausible, even taking some other dimension's rules into account? If a world allowed for time travel, then why wasn't everyone using it? If people could be brought back to life, then why were the protagonists the only ones making the journey to revive anyone? Did nobody else have anyone they wanted to bring back, or were they all just too cowardly to try?

No. Of course not.

In the real world, if such as thing as resurrection magic existed, people would be tripping over each other to get their hands on it. Even if it only lasted for five, ten minutes, they would pay out any price for it. Just for that sense of closure. Just so they could say goodbye or apologize or whatever else they could think of.

But in fiction, that didn't happen, because nobody mattered except for the heroes and villains. That was what irked Grandt more than anything else. They never turned around and tried to help the people around them unless it was convenient to the plot. If they'd the power to bring someone back from the dead, they only used it to save their leader or one of the other main characters. Occasionally, they even revived a villain.

But the side characters? The townspeople ravaged by war, the man who had witnessed his family's death, the mother whose son had been ripped from her arms? They didn't get anything. Their sense of closure was tied to their existence, and they ceased to be as soon as their scene or episode was done.

Nobody went back for them. The protagonists didn't remember them or their struggles. Instead, they were just left behind, forgotten.

Perhaps it was Grandt's own experience that fueled this hatred. He wasn't a hero. He _knew_ he wasn't a hero – he was a supporting character at best. But if life could be compared to fiction, then he'd seen the main characters. In a way, he'd helped them grow, and he'd seen them become both the heroes and the villains.

He'd seen hopes be planted and dashed in the span of a few seconds. He'd seen the man who sought to conquer and the man who _had_ conquered. He'd seen the martyrs and those who had suffered. And for a brief moment, Grandt wondered whether or not those in Ebott would be considered supporting characters in the great story that was life. Maybe he wouldn't even be that much. Perhaps he'd merely be a faceless soldier meant to fuel another's ambition. In fact, if fiction and reality were that closely mixed, Grandt wondered if he'd even be alive right now.

And then Grandt was suddenly struck by the revelation that he was sitting back on a creasy couch and contemplating his role in life while he watched a cartoon about cat-eared girls with pink and blue hair. It looked like he was still a bit loopy from that pain medication Papyrus had crammed down his throat, after all.

He let out a sigh and tried to focus back on reality. His vision was a bit fuzzy and his mind felt sluggish, but his knees at least bent a bit more than they did earlier. He still couldn't feel anything below his kneecaps, which was worrying. Beyond that, however, the fact that he could move his legs more was at least a good sign. Even if he had to lie still for hours on end, at least he could be assured that he'd be able to walk at the end of it all.

Grandt frowned. _I just hope I can still make it._

He _had_ been lying still for quite a while. How long had it been? Two hours? He was on the sixth episode of that damned cartoon, and if they were twenty-three minutes apiece, then that made the most sense.

So he'd been lying on a couch watching cartoons for two hours now. Two hours that he'd wasted trying to be philosophical by applying fictional concepts to reality. Two hours that he'd wasted by being too stupid to check his legs when they started getting sore. If he'd bothered to just think for once in his life, maybe he'd still be moving forward now. But he hadn't.

What a farce.

Why was he such a damned _idiot_? Grandt had made so many stupid decisions in the past few days that it was a miracle he was still alive. Running out on Toriel without even saying goodbye, cracking his head against that gate, making those idiotic remarks when Sans was holding him down against the snow… And of course, his dumbest decision of all: climbing the mountain in the first place.

"How did I even make it so far…?" Grandt murmured to himself, so softly as to be almost inaudible. "How did I even…?"

" _Human_!"

Grandt jumped at the sound of Papyrus's voice. He looked over and saw Papyrus standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking a bit anxious.

Papyrus walked over to the couch. "How are you feeling, Human?" he asked. "Are you comfortable in your current position?"

Grandt didn't answer immediately. His vision became blurrier, and he shook his head in an attempt to get it back to normal. It didn't work.

"I… Yes," he lied after a moment. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all." Grandt looked over and gave Papyrus a weak grin.

Truth be told, he wasn't just tired; he was completely exhausted. Grandt supposed it made sense. After all, he'd been walking for hours on end without a moment's rest. His clothes were soaked, his legs were numb, and if he tried really hard, he could still feel the area where Sans had grabbed his neck. And here he was, struggling to keep himself awake against pain medication that was almost certainly intended to make him sleep. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed hours ago.

Come to think of it, it certainly explained the weird directions his thoughts had been taking lately. Like wondering how Sans and Papyrus managed to speak without tongues, or see without eyes, or hear without ears. Now that he thought of it, how in the world did they eat? Was it just some weird magical process, or did they actually have working stomachs he just couldn't see?

"Human, why are you staring at me like that?"

Grandt blinked. "O-oh, sorry. I just…" He yawned and leaned his head back a bit further. "Maybe I should just get some sleep, after all."

"Oh! Well in that case, don't let me disturb you." Papyrus stood there for a moment, and then he added, "Do you, uh… Do you need a blanket or anything? A pillow, perhaps?"

Grandt tried to shake his head, but it wouldn't move. So instead, he just mumbled out, "No, I'll be fine. Thanks, though."

"Oh, okay." There was a long, awkward silence. "Well. In that case, I'll just get back to work." Another pause, and Papyrus nervously scratched the back of his head. "Well, goodnight, Human! Merry Christmas Eve!"

"Oh, sure…" Grandt mumbled back, eyelids now completely shut. "You, too…"

For a brief moment, Grandt tried to force himself awake. There was a small voice in the back of his head telling him not to stop, that resting could be a fatal mistake, that he could risk not waking up the next day. But there was another voice, louder and more reasonable, that countered back that Grandt was completely exhausted and that walking in his current condition was completely impossible. And of course, there was also the fact that forcing himself to stay awake would only cause more of a strain on the rest of his body – including, of course, his heart.

If nothing else, at least he wouldn't have to watch that damned cartoon.

No, sleep was good. Sleep was something he absolutely needed. He'd just lie down for a couple hours and…

Grandt never quite got to finish that thought, since that was when he completely lost consciousness.

* * *

Snowdin was just as pretty as Toriel remembered it. It was one of the few actual monster settlements in the Underground outside of the capital, which certainly added to its charm, but there was something just so remarkably _wonderful_ about it that she couldn't quite put into words.

It was certainly a gorgeous place. The way the snow glistened under the light crystals reminded her of how it had glistened beneath the rays of the winter sun back on the surface. And unlike Snowdin Forest, which didn't really have too many people in it, the town had a decent population. It wasn't huge, of course – maybe fifty people at most –, but that only served to make it feel more familiar. Everyone knew everyone else.

All the other settlements required you to go out of your way to find them, but Snowdin was right along the path leading to the capital. For that reason alone, it was one of the most well known areas in the Underground, and its traditions and customs had spread as a result.

Sans seemed to notice her looking around as they walked. "What's up?"

"It has been a long time since I've seen this place," Toriel replied. "But at the same time, it almost feels like nothing has changed at all."

Sans said, "Well, that's to be expected. Nothing really changes down here."

Toriel nodded. "Yes, I suppose so." She looked over her shoulder. "But still, it is hard to believe. All these buildings, their owners, and many of the townspeople are just as I remember them. Certainly a bit older, but beyond that, they are the same."

Sans had been giving her a tour of the town for the past two hours – which, in reality, meant that Toriel had dragged Sans around Snowdin for two hours –, seeing the sights and meeting the people. While the town was small enough that it didn't take too long to walk around it, Toriel had engaged in conversation with many people she hadn't seen in over a decade. They didn't speak for long, of course, but they talked for just long enough to get reacquainted.

It was all so bizarre; Toriel almost likened it to something out of a dream. It was as though nothing had changed. Certainly, there were new people here and there, a new building on the corner, a building that had been torn down. But the feeling of the place? Its design and the roles of its people? They were almost the same as they had been twelve, fifteen, even twenty or thirty years ago.

She wondered to herself if this was what it meant to grow older. Or perhaps, in her case, it was more accurate to believe that the world was growing older around _her_. Maybe she was the only stagnant one, and the only reason things seemed so similar was because that was what she wanted to believe.

People who had been young when she left had children now. Some of the older monsters had fallen down and died. Grillby's was still up and running, but Sans had told her its owner was much quieter than he'd been all those years ago.

And then she thought of Grandt, and of the surface, and of what must have changed there. Was the War still going on? She could always ask Grandt, but given his position as a soldier, she wondered if it was a touchy subject.

Only one of the humans had ever mentioned it directly, but that didn't mean it was over. For all she knew, it just meant that none of the others wanted to talk about it.

"Gold for your thoughts?"

Toriel blinked and looked over at Sans. "Ah… I'm sorry. I was just thinking about Grandt."

"Really."

Toriel nodded. "Yes. I was just… just wondering how he must be doing with Papyrus right now."

She didn't see the need to tell him what she was really thinking about. Besides, it wasn't a total lie, as she had been thinking about Grandt and his condition every once in a while.

"He's probably fine," Sans replied. "It's like I said earlier: Papyrus isn't gonna kill him. Worst-case scenario, he'll just stuff spaghetti down Grandt's throat 'til his legs get better. Maybe show him a bad anime or two."

"I understand that," Toriel said quietly. "I just…" She trailed off, and then she shook her head. "I'm still worried about him."

Sans's eyes seemed to soften just a bit. "Hey, don't worry about it. I get it." He chuckled. "Believe me, if Grandt was in any danger, I wouldn't let him go with Papyrus."

"Because you do not want him to get hurt?"

"Because I don't want _Papyrus_ to see him get hurt."

Toriel nodded again, this time much more slowly. "I-I see."

Sans stopped walking and turned to his left. "Hey, look. We're here."

Toriel turned to look and found herself staring at a large, two-story home near the town's exit. It stuck out quite a bit compared to just about every other house in the area, and even had its own garage next door.

"This is your house, Sans?" she asked, still staring in awe.

"Yeah. It's pretty cool."

Come to think of it, had this place been here before she'd gone into the Ruins? It looked familiar, but Toriel could have sworn that it wasn't a house back then. Or maybe it was? She couldn't quite remember.

"Hey, Toriel," Sans said, nudging her in the side. "Y'know what's even cooler than the outside of the house?"

"What?"

Sans winked. "Not the inside, 'cause it's warmer."

Toriel couldn't help but smile at that.

"Now, c'mon," Sans added, placing his hand on the doorknob. "Let's go see how Grandt's doing, since you're so worried." He paused for a moment, and then he chuckled and pushed the door open. "Here's hoping Papyrus remembered to feed him."

* * *

 **AN: This… was easily the hardest chapter of the entire story for me to write thus far. For some reason, I just couldn't find a good way to get everything across without it seeming awkward and dull. Half this chapter takes place from a single character lying in a single position, and the other half takes place while walking through Snowdin.**

 **There was a scene that I wanted to put in at the end of this update, but there was no way I could logically fit it in, so it had to be cut. It'll probably feature in the next update or two, though, so it's not gone forever. I'll point it out when it comes up.**

 **Similarly, a few jokes had to be cut because I couldn't work them in without breaking the flow. Unlike the scene above, they weren't especially important, so nothing major was lost. I'm still sad I had to cut anything, but that's just the way things go sometimes.** **On the other hand, there were a few bits of characterization and foreshadowing that I _added_ as I wrote the chapter. For example, many of Grandt's exhaustion-induced ramblings are references to things that'll be brought up later on, which I didn't originally intend to include for quite a while.**

 **And with that said, I actually have one last announcement I have to make before I wrap this up completely: this is the last update I can absolutely guarantee will be on a Tuesday. Starting next week, I will be starting college, so I'll probably have a difficult time adhering to a specific update schedule until I can figure something out. I will still try to do weekly updates, but I'll make no promises.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read the story up to this point! I apologize for the rambling author's note, and for the rambling chapter itself, but I promise next time will be much more fun and interesting! So I'll see you all next time when Grandt probably wakes up!**


	15. Chapter 2-11

_What's wrong? Did something happen?_

 _You haven't heard, Captain Journa?_

 _It was a long way away. Yes, very long. Nobody knows what to do._

 _He said it was those bastards from the Eiskols._

 _We need to inform the emperor. He needs to know what happened._

 _Lieutenant Ensir was the one who reported it. He said almost everything was gone._

 _His name? I didn't catch it, sir. I'm sorry._

 _He's gone!_

 _What do you mean, "he's gone"?!_

 _He disappeared, sir! He broke the window and ran off!_

 _A new soldier? That's unusual._

 _Yes, well… This one's a special case._

 _You'll need to be motivated about_ something _, Relef. You can't just sit still all day and expect good things to happen to you._

 _You… What have you done…?_

 _It's like I always told you, Major, isn't it?_

 _Traitors… don't deserve to live._

 _Why did you do this? Why did you do this? Why did you…?_

 _Have you ever… really thought about your condition, Major Journa?_

 _Look, just promise me something, okay? If something ever happens to me, promise me you'll keep her safe. All of you. You and Dyse and everyone else here._

 _I just… That's all I really want._

* * *

When Grandt awoke, he felt more tired than before. His head was pounding, his eyesight was bleary, his throat was cracked and dry, and he just had the overall feeling of being physically drained. He tried to sit up, but his body simply wouldn't move with his mind. It almost felt as though he'd been awake for hours on end, but he knew that wasn't true. There was a part of him that could vaguely recall dreaming about something – a lot of somethings, really.

Darkness covered the room, enveloping it in a black curtain. Through it, Grandt could see a few things that he recognized – the television, of course, turned off; a nearby table; the entrance to the kitchen, from which a dim light shone; and the couch on which he lay. Everything else was hidden in that dark shroud, created by both the natural darkness and Grandt's own eyesight.

How long had he been asleep? Not too long, right? An hour or two, at most. That had to be it.

Yes, of course. He had gotten there late – it was late, right? It was so hard to tell in the Underground –, Papyrus had set him on the couch, and he'd passed out not long afterward. Then the others probably got back and went off to bed. Yes, that made sense.

A sudden, sharp pain in his head made him gasp. He reached to hold his forehead with his left hand, but the sudden movement and his awkward positioning caused him to fall off the couch. He landed on the floor below. Loudly.

Grandt let out a low groan as the pain set in. He was thankful that the floor was thickly carpeted, at least. Even though the fall was short, it still hurt – mostly because his left arm had been the first thing that hit. The fact that his head was still throbbing didn't help any.

He simply lay there on his back for what felt like hours, unable or unwilling to move. Grandt wasn't sure which one it was. A small voice in the back of his head told him not to even bother with his legs. He could feel them now, but there was a dullness to that feeling that told him all he needed to know.

They moved; he could feel his toes twitch when he demanded it of them, and his legs could turn even in his current state. But standing? Walking? He wondered if he could manage it for even a short while.

So Grandt lay there on the carpet, collecting dust. His throat was burning now, and pain lanced through his head and stomach constantly. The tiredness had returned, too. He would have fallen asleep on the floor if the pain hadn't kept him awake. Even the simple act of closing his eyes brought about daggers.

Thankfully, it didn't seem to be his heart that was causing the problem. All the pain seemed to originate in his head and throat, so he could at least rest easy knowing that his body wasn't about to kill him just yet.

Well, _relatively_ easy.

What was the cause, then? No, thinking was a bad idea. It only made his head throb harder. He couldn't reason his way through this. Not now.

He swallowed absentmindedly and immediately regretted it. Saliva and air flowed down the sides of his dry throat, sending up another quick burst of pain. Even gasping from the pain was difficult; his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and it all felt incredibly dry.

Dry…? Yes, he supposed that explained it. When was the last time he'd had anything to drink? Papyrus hadn't given him any water with that medicine.

It had to have been back when he fled the Ruins. He'd gotten some water from the faucet not long before he ran off because he was well aware of what would happen if he didn't. But since then? He hadn't had anything to drink.

Normally, he'd just go into the kitchen and grab something. He figured that Papyrus wouldn't mind, and he could always reimburse him later – well, provided that he acquired more than two gold pieces down the line.

Unfortunately, he wasn't in a position where such a thing was possible. If he could at least stand up, it would not have been a problem, but he couldn't even manage that. His limbs were too heavy and his legs simply wouldn't respond.

Grandt's head continued to throb as he forced himself to think. His parched throat ached with every breath he took, and his vision continued to grow blurrier. How long had he been lying there? Two minutes? Ten? Twenty?

He was still in his current position, pondering what to do next, when he heard the slow creak of a door opening. Or was he just imagining it? No, he could see a bit of light out of the corner of his eye, followed by the sound of footsteps from the second floor. Was it Papyrus?

Did it matter if it was?

No. Anyone was fine right now. If it meant he could drink _something_ , Grandt didn't care who was coming. He was even willing to accept a glass of water from his son's killer if he had to. Or maybe he'd finally let Dyse force a bottle of that cheap wine on him.

Well, perhaps he wouldn't go _that_ far.

Thankfully, he didn't have to entertain either of those ideas any further, as the source of the footsteps soon came right up behind him. He couldn't turn his head to see what it was, but he could immediately identify it by the voice.

"I know the carpet's comfy, Grandt, but I think it'd be better if ya stuck to the couch."

Grandt tried to come up with a retort, but all that came out was a quiet groan. Sans was probably having the time of his life – death? Undeath? – right now.

"So what happened?" Sans asked.

"I fell," Grandt mumbled.

"… ya don't say."

"'s not funny…"

"It's a little funny."

Grandt struggled to move his head, but to no avail. His body simply wouldn't respond to his mind. Instead, he just flopped around a bit on the carpet, eventually managing to move his arms into a vaguely comfortable position. Sans watched quietly all the while. Grandt presumed he was trying to hide his laughter.

His eyelids felt heavier than before, and Grandt would have closed them if it didn't bring back the daggers. He wanted to get Sans's attention, to let him know that he needed water, but he couldn't articulate it properly. Even if he did, he had to wonder if Sans would be willing to get him something to drink.

Sans just stood there for a moment, and then he said, "Huh. Papyrus told me he gave you some medicine, but, uh… Seems he gave you a bit too much." Another long, awkward pause. "Do you, uh… Do ya need anything?"

Red cloaked Grandt's vision, intermingling with the blue darkness to create crimson. He tried to speak again, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. It seemed he'd wasted his few remaining words on mumbling and groaning.

"Yeah, he _definitely_ gave ya too much." Sans stepped around him and looked down at his face. Even in the darkness, his eyes seemed to gleam. "Let's see… Ya want some water or somethin'? 'Cause I can get you some."

 _Yes!_ Grandt thought excitedly, followed by another burst of pain. Unfortunately, he couldn't articulate it.

"Huh. Well, blink once for yes. Twice for no."

Grandt's eyelids drooped shut. Daggers. He forced them open again and desperately struggled to keep them from closing. He couldn't afford to let them shut again. If they did, he'd have nothing. No water, no comfort. Just pain.

Sans just stared at him for a moment before slowly nodding. "Alright. I'll be right back, so don't go anywhere," he added with a slight chuckle.

Grandt would have smirked, but unfortunately his head was throbbing a bit too much for that. He saw Sans – his image red and wavering – walk away, presumably toward the kitchen. His eyes slowly closed again.

Daggers. This time sharper and more vicious than before. Harsher. His eyelids burned, and for a moment Grandt wondered whether the daggers had grown hot.

The heat grew and swelled until it went from unbearable to downright hellish. It spread from his eyelids to his eyeballs, spearing them with flame. Grandt would've cried, normally, but there wasn't anything to let out. Even if there was, he had no intention of wasting what precious drops of water he had left.

Precious water. He needed it. Where was Sans? Was he coming back? How long had it been? How long? Too long. It hurt.

Footsteps from nearby. Was it Sans? It was probably Sans. Who else would it be? Something cold pressed against his lips. Glass, _water_ – thank God, water! Washing down his throat. Washing away the pain. Washing away the dust. It was gone, now. It was gone.

Then, all too soon, the glass pulled away. Was it really finished? Was there any left? Even a drop?

For a moment, there was silence. Then Grandt felt the unmistakable sensation of icy water against his face. It splashed against his eyelids, cooling them. Against his forehead, easing its pain somewhat. Against his tiredness, abating it.

Grandt sputtered and choked. Yes, he was certainly awake now. The pain behind his eyes had vanished completely, and all that remained of the agony in his throat was a dull throb whenever he swallowed; something that, he imagined, would go away shortly.

He sat up slowly – his body responded, too? That was good –, and pressed a hand to his forehead. It still throbbed somewhat, but at least it wasn't as bad as it had been before. His eyes slowly opened and fixed upon Sans, standing still with an empty glass in his hand.

Grandt's vision slowly came back into focus. The red became black, blue, and every other color that one would expect to find in darkness. He rubbed his forehead slowly, until even that pain became so dull as to be more of an inconvenience than anything else. Then he wiped the water from his face, transferring it instead to his sleeve.

"Feeling better?" Sans asked. He set the glass atop the television.

"Much better. Thank you."

"Eh, don't worry about it." Sans chuckled. "Just didn't want ya lying there all night. It'd make the whole carpet smell like oranges."

Grandt smiled a bit. "It's still noticeable?"

"What, you can't tell?"

Grandt leaned down and sniffed his arm. Sure enough, it smelled like he'd wandered into an orange grove. He pulled it away a bit disgustedly. Grandt may have enjoyed the smell in the kitchen, but such an overwhelming burst of it was sickening. How had he never noticed it before? Was he really just so exhausted that he didn't even think of it, or was he really just that unobservant?

Well, it didn't matter now. It'd wash off in time, probably. Maybe. He really hoped it would.

Worst case scenario, Grandt would smell delicious for the rest of his life. Which, when he thought about it logically, was only…

Grandt paused, and a chill ran down his spine. His mouth suddenly felt very dry again. Drier than before, at any rate. His hands began to shake. His fingers twitched and grabbed at the carpet.

"Sans?"

"Yeah?"

Grandt breathed in slowly. "What… What day is it?"

"Christmas Day," Sans said after a moment. "Why? You forget to buy presents?"

Grandt's thoughts ground to a halt, and turned his face up blankly. "No, it's not."

"Yep. Twenty-fifth of February."

"What? No, that's not Christmas."

"Sure it is."

"But the twenty-fifth of February isn't–" And then Grandt stopped midsentence. He pressed his fingers to the carpet again, much slower this time, and then he looked back up at Sans with hopeful eyes. "The twenty-fifth of February? That's today?"

"Yup. Christmas Day. Same day every year."

Grandt pressed his back up against the couch and let out a slow, quiet sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God…" he murmured. "Thank God…"

"Something wrong?" Sans asked.

Grandt turned his head over to look at Sans more closely. There was some strange emotion on his face that he hadn't displayed before. Concern? No, Grandt doubted it. It didn't seem like Sans to show concern for anyone, much less for him.

Yet even so, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that it _was_ concern. Maybe it was stupid of him. Maybe he was just hoping that Sans felt at least some shred of care for him because he didn't want to imagine the alternative. Maybe he really was just a foolish, idealistic old man.

No, that was almost certainly it.

"Seriously, Grandt, you're just kinda starin' off into space."

Should he tell Sans the truth? Why he was so relieved to hear what day it was? Yes, that was a good idea. After all, it wasn't like it was a huge secret or anything. All he had to do was say the words. It should have been simple.

Grandt looked over at him for a moment. He forced a small, weak, obviously false smile.

"I'm…"

 _Say it. Say it! Just say the damned words!_

"I'm fine."

 _No._

Sans continued to stare. His expression seemed to shift a bit, to the point where Grandt couldn't even begin to guess what lay behind his eyes.

"Oh. Alright." A pause. "That's good, I guess."

"Y-yeah." Grandt struggled to keep smile on his lips. "It is."

More staring. More silence. The tension reached its way to Grandt's face, tugging his fake grin down, forcing his eyes shut, making the pain from earlier seem better by comparison. At least then the turmoil had been physical, rather than mental. At least then he didn't have to sit still and struggle against his own body for dominance.

Earlier, he'd been in pain because he was too stupid to ask for help. Now, he was too stupid to admit a simple fact. It should have been easy. It should have been simple. It was just two words. Six, if he wanted to be more descriptive.

Why was it so hard to say?

His fingers dug into the side of the couch so harshly that his knuckles turned white. He was losing the battle with his body; his smile had fallen into a flat line, and the emotion behind his eyes was becoming less and less hidden.

"Grandt," Sans said, and he was suddenly very aware that his trembling fingers were in full view.

"Y-yes?"

Sans leaned in a bit closer. Was it just Grandt, or did his eye seem to glint for a moment?

"You're lying."

Grandt shrunk back a bit into the couch. His fingers visibly twitched against its side. "D-don't be ridiculous," he said, desperately trying to avoid Sans's eyes. "I'm completely fine! A bit tired, maybe. But besides, that, I–"

Sans snorted. "A bit tired? You look half dead." He leaned in a bit closer. "Ya just had your first glass of water in what? A day? Day and a half?"

"Not that long." Grandt's frown deepened. "At least, I don't _think_ it's been that long."

"Uh-huh. And how long's it been since ya had something to eat?"

"I… I'm not sure, really."

How long _had_ it been? He'd had something to drink before he left Toriel's, but the last time he ate was well before that. If he left early in the morning – which he presumed was the case, although he wasn't sure –, it would've had to have been the night before.

For that matter, what time was it now? If it was early in the morning now, did that mean he hadn't eaten anything in over twenty-four hours? If so, that definitely didn't bode well. Sure, he'd managed to go for longer – once he'd even managed four days without eating even a crumb –, but that was back when he was younger. Back when he was able to withstand such things as hunger without possibly destroying his body. If it really had been that long, then Grandt may have very well sped up his own demise.

"Well, I guess…" He thought back over the day before, and then he paused. "I took a bite from that spaghetti earlier, if that counts for anything."

Based on Sans's face, it clearly didn't. Or if it did, it didn't count in a good way.

"… yeah, okay. You're eating something. Now."

"What? Sans, no, I'm not really that–"

"Nope. You're eating something, and that's that."

Grandt simply stared back at Sans for a moment, finally meeting his eyes. He didn't blink. He didn't look away. He just looked right back calmly, quietly.

What the hell was he up to? This wasn't like Sans. At least, Grandt didn't _think_ it was like Sans. He didn't seem the type to go out of his way for someone he'd just met. Honestly, he didn't really seem the type to go out of his way to do _anything_ , but here he was. It was strange. Sans was a regular enigma, if nothing else.

But still, Grandt could hardly pretend that he wasn't thankful. Truth be told, he was famished. He was hungry, tired, thirsty, injured, and absolutely exhausted. His body was a complete mess, and he couldn't even bring himself to ask anyone for help.

Just like how he couldn't bring himself to talk about his condition.

If Sans hadn't demanded that he eat, Grandt probably would've gone all night lying awake in agony. There wouldn't be daggers behind his eyes, and there wouldn't be crimson tainting his vision or dryness in his throat. Even so, he would be in pain; his head would ache and his body would probably refuse his brain's commands once again. All because he couldn't bear to ask Sans for help.

Honestly, Grandt couldn't thank him enough.

"Hey, do your eyes always glaze over like that?"

Grandt blinked and came back to the world of the living. "Sorry." He reached up and pressed his right hand against his forehead. "I've been spacing out a lot, lately. Maybe I'm just tired."

"Or hungry."

"Maybe I'm a _little_ hungry," Grandt admitted.

"Cool." Sans leaned back so that he wasn't in Grandt's face anymore. "Here, I'll grab ya something."

Grandt pushed himself up so that he leaned against the couched rather than sat against it. "There's no need for that," he said a bit more quickly than he'd meant to. "I can get myself something to eat."

"Really."

"Yes, really!"

Sans chuckled. "You're just worried I'm gonna throw food on your face, huh?"

"… no."

 _Got it in one._

"In… In any case," Grandt said, trying to change the subject, "I need to exercise my legs anyway, right? And… And I mean, the kitchen's right over there, so it shouldn't be too far for me to–"

"Uh-huh."

"… to walk," Grandt finished lamely. "I-I mean… Well, you know what I mean, right?"

Sans shrugged. "Hey, whatever boats your float, or whatever." He took a step back and gestured to the kitchen door. "Go for it."

Grandt nodded slowly. His legs shook beneath him, and he knew for a fact in the back of his head that they weren't healed enough to walk. But that didn't matter to him; he wasn't paying attention to what some nebulous voice in his mind wanted to tell him, even if said voice happened to be his own sense of reason. He knew that if he could walk this distance, it was only logical to assume that he could walk _any_ distance. If he could make it to the kitchen on his own, he could convince Sans and Papyrus and Toriel and whoever else to let him leave now, rather than later.

Then he could make it back. He could walk the distance from here to the end of the Underground, he could escape, and he could see Frisk again. It was simple. It was so very, very simple. All he had to do was walk ten, fifteen feet. Or was it twenty? It was so dark, he couldn't really tell. Even with the light on in the kitchen, much of the floor was such a pitch black that he couldn't accurately tell anything about it. And when he was in a position like this where every step was important, even the slightest error was enough to completely ruin him.

His fingers began to tremble again, this time not from Sans, but from the revelation of what he was about to do. They dug deep into the couch's creases and stayed there. He didn't know how long he could stand without some form of support. Ten seconds, maybe. No, twenty. Twenty sounded about right. If he sprinted over to the kitchen, he could make it there before his legs fell out from under him.

Then Sans would have to let him go. He'd have to say, "Sure, you can go onward," and Grandt would be able to keep traversing the Underground. He could reach the end. He still had time. He just couldn't hesitate. He couldn't stay still for too long. He had to run and sprint and walk and crawl and drag himself along the ground. He had to get out. He had to. He couldn't afford to screw this up.

"Havin' second thoughts?" Sans's voice cut through his frantic thoughts. "'Cause if ya do, I really don't–"

"N-no, it's fine! I'm fine." Grandt's fingers twitched again. "I-I have to be fine…"

Without giving Sans a chance to respond, Grandt loosened his grip on the couch. He held his fingers still for a moment longer, still clutching at the couch's fabric like a life preserver. Tight enough that he wouldn't fall, but loosely enough that any less of a grip would force him to stand on his own two legs – literally.

 _Now or never. Never or now._

The familiar words echoed throughout Grandt's head. His fingers strengthened their grip again, and he breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. Then, in a single, swift motion, Grandt detached his hands from the couch completely and lowered them to his sides.

Slowly – very slowly –, Grandt released the held breath and opened his eyes. He hadn't fallen yet. Somehow, in spite of everything, his legs still held him aloft. They felt light beneath his weight. Hollow, even. They shook and quivered like gelatin. They didn't feel sore; in fact, they felt like nothing. They were less like legs than they were stilts holding up his exhausted body.

But still, many people could use stilts to walk such short distances. What made him any different? His legs still moved like he wanted them to. All he had to do was walk forward. That's all he had to do. It was so simple.

One step. Just one. That's all he needed to do to prove to himself that his legs worked. Just a single, solitary step forward. He'd done it millions of times without even thinking about it before. There was no reason for it to be hard now. All he had to do was take a single step. Just one.

Why were his lips so dry all of a sudden? Grandt ran his tongue over them, only to discover that it did nothing to help. His arms shook at his sides. His fingers twitched and their nails bit into his palms.

 _Too fast._

 _Calm down. Calm down! Slowly. Breathe slowly. It's so simple. Just breathe._

In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the–

 _Good. This should be good. It should be simple. Just stay calm and don't worry about it. It's just one step. Just one. It should be simple._

He took one last, slow, deep breath, and then he lifted his left leg and set it down in front of him.

Then the stilts collapsed out from under him, and Grandt fell. He didn't fall slowly, dramatically, with enough time to grab onto a nearby table or chair or doghouse. He just fell as people fall – with barely enough time to react, to extend an arm, to _try_ and mitigate the eventual and upcoming damage as best he could.

There was no damage. No broken bones. No injuries or physical wounds. No blood. No pain. The fall had been too short for any of that.

But that didn't matter. Grandt didn't need pain for it to hurt. He simply lay still on the carpet like before, eyes staring ahead blankly. His fingers sat motionless against the fibers. They didn't twitch or move. His head was on its side, and he could see Sans staring down at him from above. Even in this fog – even as his mind worked its way through what had just happened to him, and even as he desperately denied it –, he could tell that Sans wasn't exactly excited with what he'd just seen.

Sans didn't respond to it. He didn't make a sarcastic comment or remark about how Grandt had "gone on a trip" or anything like that. He just stood there for a time, staring down with an expression that – in spite of his smile – looked almost sad.

"I'll… uh… I'll be right back," he said slowly, and then he turned to his side and began walking off toward the kitchen.

Grandt stayed in place. He didn't move. He couldn't. Why would he? It was over. It was done.

 _No._

It was too late. His body was broken beyond belief. If he couldn't walk, he couldn't get out. If he couldn't get out, he couldn't see Frisk again.

 _No, no, no!_

It was over. It was done. It should have been simple, and now it was nothing. Empty. It was as impossible as a worm slaying the sun. Even if his legs recovered, he wouldn't be able to leave. It wouldn't happen.

Christmas Day. February twenty-fifth. That was today, right? It was a leap year; he knew he at least had one extra day, for all the good it did. It was a day he would waste recovering. A day he would waste sitting on a couch watching the world go by as he counted backwards from nine.

He would never see Frisk again. She would be lost to him; he would be lost to her. He wondered if she was waiting for him to come back. He hoped not. He didn't want her to get her hopes up for something that would never happen.

 _I should've checked my legs before. I could have. They were right there. It would have been so simple._

But it was gone, now. Hopes. Dreams. Everything. There was nothing more he could do. His legs would probably be fully recovered by tomorrow. And then, after that, he'd be counting backwards from eight.

He doubted he could clear the Underground so quickly. Even if he did, he still needed time to walk back to Ebott from… wherever it was the Underground would spit him out. Unless it dropped him right next to the village, there was no way he'd make it in time.

It was over. It was done. He'd wasted too much time, and now he was going to die alone because of it. He'd have to saddle Kira and Dyson and all the others in the village with taking care of Frisk. He hoped they wouldn't hate him too much for it. They'd agreed already, of course, but so what? Opinions changed often. For all he knew, they could have already reconsidered his request. He prayed they didn't.

And yet, in spite of everything, there he was, lying on the ground and repeating the same damned words in his head again and again. It was just like before, except that now there weren't daggers behind his eyes. Only tears.

"Hey, Grandt?"

Grandt turned his eyes upward to meet Sans's. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't get the words out. They hung in the back of his throat, choking him along with his worries.

Sans didn't even bother to stand and stare. He simply sat down on the carpet in front of Grandt, holding his gaze all the while.

"Okay," Sans said after a moment, "what's the matter?"

Grandt swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to speak. "What… What do you mean by that?"

"Grandt, you're _crying_."

"I-I am…?" Grandt blinked, and he felt wetness run down his face. It wasn't the water from earlier. "Oh… I-I guess I am."

Another lie. He'd felt them, of course. He'd just hoped that Sans wouldn't notice them. That they'd dry quickly. Or if not that, he'd hoped that Sans wouldn't say anything about them.

"Alright, seriously. What's the matter?" Sans leaned back against the television stand.

Here it was. Here was his chance. All he had to do was say the words. That was all he had to do. Just a few, precious words. It was so simple.

Besides, what else could he say? That he'd injured himself in the fall? That he was tired? No. He had to say it. He _wanted_ to say it. He wanted to spill his guts and tell the truth.

It was so–

"I..." Grandt said, forcing the words out. "My heart… It's…"

It was–

"It's…"

It wasn't simple at all.

Grandt closed his eyes and turned his head down. He pressed his face into the carpet and sobbed.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry, but I can't… I can't…"

Grandt didn't know how long he'd been crying for. It could've been a few minutes. It could've been an hour or two or ten. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Sans didn't act or leave or say anything. He just sat there patiently as Grandt sobbed his eyes out.

After a while, Grandt felt something gently grab his shoulder. He turned his head to the side, and there was Sans, now standing up.

"Hey," Sans said. "We should… uh… We should probably get going."

Grandt sat up slowly and wiped his eyes. "Going?" he asked when he was done, with only a slightly lessened sense of sorrow behind his words. "What do you mean, 'going'?"

"Well, it's just that ya still need to eat something, right?" Sans asked. "Turns out there isn't anything in the kitchen, so…" He shrugged. "I guess we'll just have to go out."

Grandt stopped for a moment. "Sans, you don't have to–"

"Yeah, I know." A pause. "C'mon. Let's get going."

He stretched his hand out slowly. It was bony, skeletal, just like its owner. Under normal circumstances, Grandt would've at least thought against taking it. Here, he didn't even give it a second thought.

Sans hoisted him up and pulled his arm around his shoulders. Grandt's legs were still awkward, hollow, and stilt-like in their use, but with Sans's help, he could probably walk unimpeded. Just like before, Sans was supporting his movements. The only difference was that Toriel wasn't there to give him a hand.

But Sans didn't seem bothered by it. If he was, he was a master at hiding it.

"I… I don't understand," Grandt said as Sans walked him over to the door.

"What's there to get?"

Grandt shook his head. His eyes had that strange, crusty feeling of dried tears. There were no daggers, no pain in his throat or mouth or head. He'd probably cried out every drop of water Sans had given him, but he felt no worse for wear. He just felt tired. Tired and angry with himself for his inability to say anything.

So, when the chance came to respond, he told Sans, "I don't get any of it. I just…" He trailed off, and then he let out a low, quiet sigh. "I just can't understand. We only just met, and you've helped me out so much. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of it." Grandt looked down. "But still, you're…"

He saw the front door open, and a strange, dim sort of light flooded the room. Everything became cold. The non-wiped tears and water on his face froze and stung, but he didn't care. He couldn't.

"I just… Why? Why are you doing this for me?"

There was a long moment of silence as they stepped out into the snow. Grandt could vaguely feel it against his legs, soaking his boots. It was almost cold – and, if it weren't for his condition, he presumed that it would be freezing.

Sans shut the door behind them. It creaked as it closed. Was it old, or was it just because of the weather? It looked fairly new. They stepped forward.

Then they stopped. "Why? Why, indeed? Why does anybody ever do anything?" Sans chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't want to."

Grandt stared at him for a moment. He couldn't say what he wanted to before. He didn't know why, but he couldn't. It wasn't simple then. He suspected it would never be simple. Those words would eat away at him forever, and there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps he could force them out someday, but that day was not today.

But the words he wanted to say right now? They were easy. They were simple, even. Truly simple. All he had to do was say them.

 _Now or never. Never or now._

"Hey, Sans?"

"What's up?"

"Thank you. For everything."

Sans looked a bit startled at first, but then he chuckled. "Yeah," he said a moment later. "You, too."

* * *

 **AN: Papyrus is a pretty heavy sleeper, I guess.**

 **Since I haven't uploaded a chapter in well over a month, I thought it was only fitting that I put up a bigger chapter this time around. It took me a while to write, and I had to split it into two parts, but it was still plenty of fun. Luckily, my college classes aren't too strenuous yet, so I should be able to upload more frequently. I won't be uploading a chapter this Tuesday unless I have enough time, but I'll still try to stick to my old schedule from this point on.**

 **As per the usual, thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read this story! I'll see you all next time for food and more character development!**


	16. Chapter 2-12

It was a smallish sort of place. Quaint. Almost completely empty, too. The temperature was noticeably warmer than it was outside – in fact, Grandt thought that it was probably warmer than Sans's and Papyrus's house. The air smelled thickly of grease and smoke and cooked meat. Everything was made from wood that creaked at the slightest touch. The smells and sights and sounds were making Grandt tear up a little, even though he believed he'd flushed all the tears out of his body not ten minutes earlier.

"There a problem?" Sans asked casually, making Grandt awaken from his stupor.

Grandt shook his head quickly. "No," he said, gazing about. "It's just… It's been a long time since I've been to a place like this." He chuckled to himself. "It's, ah… It's making me a bit nostalgic, I guess."

"Nostalgic? For what, grease?"

Grandt smiled. "No, not that." A pause. "Well, I suppose it's a _little_ bit of that. But no, I used to come to this kind of place all the time back when I was still in the military."

"Really?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"A bit," Sans admitted. "You're a chef, right? I didn't think you'd come to a place like this."

Grandt snorted. "What, did you think I cooked all my squad's meals?"

"Nah. Just thought you'd pick nicer places."

Sans lead him forward a bit more. They passed a few booths, a large table in the center – really, all the sorts of pictures one would expect at a place like this. The only thing it lacked was a pool table, but Grandt could tell just by looking that there wasn't enough room for one anyway. It was too cramped for that.

Grandt forced his legs to move, but they still felt hollow. Less hollow than before, perhaps, but that wasn't exactly too great of an improvement. It'd be like saying his squadron had contained more people than the town of Ebott; sure, it was _true_ , but it was such a small improvement that it was almost completely meaningless.

He shook his head and refocused. "Here," he said, looking over at a nearby booth. "Why don't we just sit down there?"

Sans seemed to smirk to himself. "Nope," he said. "You're sitting down at the bar."

"What? No, that's not–"

"Look. If I can carry you from my house to Grillby's," Sans said, "I'm pretty sure I can carry ya eight more feet."

"It's not that." Grandt shifted his weight a bit. "I _know_ you can do that. Contrary to what you might think, I'm not stupid."

"I know."

Grandt placed his hanging arm against the large table. Even biting down on the inside of his mouth did nothing to remove his grin. "I'm just a bit of a _bone_ head, I guess."

Sans snorted. "Good one."

"Thanks. I… Well, I didn't actually try with that one." Grandt's grin changed into a smaller smile. "I just kind of said it. That's all."

The floorboards creaked.

Grandt didn't really feel like he was walking, to be honest. It was more like he was being dragged along by Sans. Like he didn't really have a choice in what he was doing. He may as well have been standing on a conveyer belt.

"Sure ya said it. That's how words work."

"I know that much."

They were standing by the bar, now.

Sans gestured to a pair of stools directly in front of them. They were short things – much shorter than the ones in Hartsvaldt's bars –, which Grandt was more than a little thankful for. It meant he didn't have to use his legs as much.

"Ya need any help?" Sans asked.

Grandt's grin returned. "Don't patronize me."

"Sure I won't. I'm patronizing _Grillby_ , not _you_."

Grandt paused and would have leaned back if his legs allowed it. "See, that's what I'm talking about. I just rattle off lame skeleton jokes I make up on the spot, and you come out with some actually clever wordplay."

"Eh, I like yours more."

"So do I," Grandt admitted. "The reaction's always more fun to watch."

He placed his free hand against the barstool and slowly removed his other arm from around Sans's shoulder. Then, even more slowly – so slowly that the average snail would have _begged him_ to go faster –, he set his trembling fingers against the counter. He quickly pulled himself out from under Sans's arms and used what little force he could muster in his legs to pull himself up onto the stool. It was a bit awkward at first, and he had to readjust himself to sit properly, but he'd managed it on his own.

He'd managed _something_ on his own. Something that wasn't a simple puzzle or a conversation or a story about how much his life sucked.

And it was sitting on a freaking stool.

He gripped the edge tightly. Very tightly. His nails scraped against the wood, and he didn't even care. He couldn't even say two simple words. What was the point in pretending he was good for anything?

"Huh, you must be _really_ scared of falling off," Sans said.

"No," Grandt lied. He'd been doing that a lot, lately. "No, I'm just tired. That's all."

"Uh-huh."

Grandt would've leaned back if the stool had a back, but it didn't because it was a freaking stool. "Look, I just–" He cut himself off. No, there was no point in it. It was better to just say what he could.

He tried again. "Sans," he said, "have you ever felt like… like there's nothing you can do?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

Grandt shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. It's just me being silly. Please, just… just forget about it, alright?"

Sans leaned over so that a single arm was rested against the counter. "Well, now I'm curious."

"Sans–"

"You can't just stop there and expect me to let it go. C'mon." He winked. "I mean, I don't wanna be up all morning thinking about it."

Grandt sat in silence for a moment. He didn't want to unload all his problems on Sans – God knew he'd already told him and Toriel enough about his self-loathing and personal issues in the span of a single day –, but if Sans was going to be so insistent, he supposed there was nothing else he could do.

"I just… I mean, have you ever felt like no matter how hard you try, you just can't do anything?" Grandt sighed and leaned forward with his arms against the counter. "I just… I just can't do anything on my own. Hell, I can't even walk without help."

"That's not your fault."

"Sure it is. It's my fault for not feeling those green things before. If I'd noticed them, I'd probably be out of here by now." He closed his eyes. "I'd probably be in… whatever it is that comes next."

"Waterfall," Sans said.

"What?"

"Waterfall," he repeated. "The next area's called Waterfall."

Grandt stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope. It's Waterfall."

Grandt sighed and shook his head. "That's silly," he said. "This place is silly."

Sans chuckled. "Says the guy who just called himself a bonehead."

"I _am_ a bonehead," Grandt replied. "I'm an idiot. That's why I didn't want to talk about all that stuff. It's all just me being stupid and rambling on about things that don't matter. That shouldn't matter." He wanted to press his head against the counter and not look up. It was cool and smooth enough for it. "I probably shouldn't have said anything at all."

"Do you really think you're an idiot, Grandt?"

"I have to be. I climbed the mountain."

Sans went uncharacteristically quiet at that. He turned his head away and stared forward over the counter. Grandt turned his eyes down to the counter and kept them there. His fingers pressed against the stained wood, and he said nothing more.

It must have been a minute later that he heard a sound he knew all too well – the sound of a plate clattering against a wooden table. Even so, Grandt was still surprised to find that the bartender had apparently set down a pair of fairly large plates in front of him and Sans.

Grandt glanced up to see that the bartender – a man who seemed to be completely made of fire – had already gone back to polishing up a single glass behind the counter. Then he turned his head back towards Sans.

"Did you order this?" he asked.

Sans shrugged, but his grin grew. "Who can say?"

"Why did–"

"C'mon, dig in." Sans winked. "Don't worry about paying or anything. Trust me."

Grandt stared at him for a moment, and then he sighed and turned back toward his plate. Sans was right about one thing, at least: he was hungry. He was _starving_ , really. His stomach was about set to eat itself.

Screw dignity. He grabbed a pair of fries and stuffed them into his mouth without thinking about it. They were good; not great, but to his stomach and tongue and throat, _anything_ would taste pretty good right now.

Still, the fries weren't bad – they were decently salted, well-prepared, and crunched satisfactorily between his teeth. They reminded him of some of the bar food he and his men would grab after a particularly difficult training session or battle. Few things calmed a person down quite like a decent burger and a beer.

In fact, he was tempted to see how the burger in front of him tasted. It looked decent enough, and he hadn't had a hamburger made by anyone other than himself in the past ten years (barring the few times Dyse decided to bring some back from Hartsvaldt; even then, though, they had to be reheated thanks to the trip taking so long).

His mouth was almost watering at the sight and smell and appearance. He would've reached down and taken it then if Sans hadn't tapped him on the shoulder.

Grandt turned his head back. "What is it?" he asked.

"Here," Sans said, winking and holding out a thin bottle of ketchup. "Solve the puzzle."

Grandt simply stared at him for a moment, and then the corners of his mouth pulled up into a small grin. Then he closed his eyes and let out a small sigh – not the kind where you're sad or annoyed, but the kind where you've resigned yourself to whatever happens next –, and he took the bottle from Sans.

"I don't know if I can do this," he said, fingers tapping against the lid. "It looks a bit difficult."

"Just a bit."

Grandt placed his fingers around the lid and gave it a test turn. It felt… surprisingly loose, actually. Screw-on caps were usually at least somewhat tight, but this cap had clearly been loosened before he'd even touched it. It rolled to the side once, twice, three times, and then it came off. Grandt set it upside-down on the counter and looked over at Sans with a wry smile.

Sans threw his arms up in the air in mock frustration. "Ya solved my best puzzle. Guess there's nothing more I can do."

Grandt wouldn't have been surprised if that statement were true.

He didn't say that out loud, though. Instead, he just casually poured out half the bottle on his burger and put a much smaller amount on his fries. Then he simply set the bottle in between himself and Sans so that it rested next to its cap. When Grandt finally placed the top bun on his burger, ketchup oozed out from every side, coating the fries and the plate.

Sans stared at it, seemingly lost for words. Then, "You, uh… You want sure like ketchup, huh?"

"Why would you think that?" Grandt asked casually as he dabbed a fry against the side of his burger.

"… no reason."

"Alright," Grandt said. "So anyway, do you know if this place has anything to drink?"

"You're still thirsty?" Sans asked. He hadn't touched his food.

"Not yet. There's a lot of salt here, though." Grandt smiled a bit to himself, and he bit down on a thin fry – the kind that crunched between your teeth like celery. "But," he added, "I'll probably be fine for a while. I hope so, at least."

"Why wouldn't ya be?"

Grandt stopped mid-chew. "No reason."

Sans snorted. "Eh, fair enough."

Another lie. He was getting better at lying. He wondered how long it'd be before he believed it himself.

Grandt looked over at Sans's food. It was still untouched, and then he looked up to see that Sans was still staring at him intently.

"You're gonna eat that, aren't you?" he asked Sans, gesturing to his plate.

"Probably," Sans said, but he looked a bit startled by the question.

"Then _eat it_." Grandt casually stuffed a handful of reddened fries into his mouth. "And stop staring at me. It's weird."

"Just trying to make sure you're–"

"I know, and I appreciate it. I'm glad you care. Believe me, I'm glad." Grandt sighed. "But I'm not the only one here who needs to eat."

"But–"

"Look," Grandt said, cutting Sans off, "if you don't eat _something_ while we're here, I'm gonna spend all day worrying about you."

That wasn't a lie. It wasn't a lie at all.

Sans stared at him for a moment. Then he let out a slow sigh and closed his eyes. "Alright," he relented. "Yeesh, don't'cha think you're a bit too worried about a guy you met less than a day ago?"

Grandt smirked. "Says the guy who dragged me out here in the first place. What's your excuse?"

"Got me there," Sans chuckled.

A sudden realization struck Grandt. "Sans," he said, smirk falling from his face, "you're not just doing this to make up for attacking me earlier, are you?"

Sans froze in place. His fingers slowly trailed over to the half-full bottle of ketchup, and then he suddenly slammed it back like a moderately drunk man who wanted to be _really_ drunk in the next ten seconds. It drained completely down his… throat? Neck?

 _How in the world does he drink anything, anyway?_

Sans set it back on the counter. "Sorry." He turned his eyes back toward Grandt. "Did ya say something?"

Grandt just stared. What else was he supposed to do? There was nothing he could say; he was genuinely speechless. It would've been impressive if it hadn't come right out of nowhere. He couldn't even think of any jokes. His mind was a blank wasteland of "what" and "why."

Then he shook his head and cleared out the nothing. He grasped for words and found them. "If you wanted to apologize, you could've just said so. There wasn't any need for…" He trailed off and gestured at the entirety of the bar. "For _this_."

"Sure, there was a need for it," Sans said. He wiped some excess ketchup from his cheeks. "Or would you prefer if I'd just left you on the floor?"

Grandt shook his head again. "It's not that. I'm just saying you didn't need to do all this just to say sorry." He popped a fry into his mouth. "It's not like you did anything too bad, anyway."

"Grandt, I tried to _kill_ you."

"What's your point?"

Sans stared at him like he was an idiot. "I tried to–"

"I get that. _What's your point_?" Grandt ran a hand over his beard. "If you think that's the only time I've almost died in my life, you're very wrong."

His pulled his hand down slowly, setting it against the table, and he looked into Sans's eyes. "Soldiers fight," he said seriously. "Soldiers fight, soldiers kill, and soldiers _die_. I've seen it. Everyone's seen it. I've been held down with knives to my throat and guns to my held. The fact that I still have all four of my limbs is nothing short of a miracle, never mind that I'm somehow still alive."

He held out his hand and flexed his fingers. They all moved as he willed them. But he knew people who didn't have a finger. He knew people who didn't have an arm or a leg or any combination of limbs. He'd seen people with chunks taken out of their heads and necks and backs.

"That's not an excuse."

"Sure it's not," Grandt said while he calmly ate. "But you didn't hurt me. Not really. Hell, you probably caused more damage when you cut my knees to get those bands off."

Sans stared at him for a moment. "You're just gonna accept that?"

"Accept what?"

"Accept that I attacked you outta the blue." Sans paused. "Accept that I almost _killed_ you."

"Sure I am."

"Why?"

"Because," Grandt said, "it happened. It's over. It's done." He ran another fry over the side of his burger. "What else do you want me to say?"

There was a long, awkward silence as Sans seemed to process that information. Then he chuckled. "You're a strange guy, Grandt."

Grandt passed a glance over to the empty ketchup bottle, but he decided not to say anything.

"Y'know," Sans continued, "most people in your position would be pretty mad about the whole 'trying to kill ya' thing."

In truth, Grandt knew it was weird. He was well aware that most people didn't spend their time with someone who'd almost killed them – and no matter what he said or how hard he lied, he couldn't deny that Sans had come very close. At the same time, though, he'd half expected himself to be dead by this point, and the fact that he was still alive was only because Sans and Toriel had helped him out every step of the way. Really, he knew that it was weird. He knew that it was strange. But he just couldn't bring himself to care.

And now, even after everything, Sans still cared enough to provide him with food, water, and shelter. Him. A random old man. A random old _human_ who should've had his SOUL ripped out on sight.

There was no benefit to keeping him alive. Sans had done it anyway.

How could he hate someone like that?

But Grandt didn't say all that. He didn't ramble on and on about how Sans proved different from the bandits ( _or the soldiers_ , he mentally added with a shudder) back home. He didn't talk about how he expected to have died.

Instead, he just smiled at Sans, shrugged, and said, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, guess it's good ya know that much, at least."

"Yeah."

"Anyway," Sans said, and he reached out to his plate and picked up a fry, "I guess it's time I ate something, too."

"Here's hoping my burger hasn't gone cold," Grandt chuckled. "Then again, we've only been talking for a bit. How long's it been, do you think?"

Sans shrugged. "I dunno," he said. "After a while, ya stop caring about things like that."

"What _do_ you care about, Sans?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard, given the way that he suddenly stopped chewing. "A lot of things," he said. "A few things."

"Sheesh," Grandt said with a sigh. "You really _are_ like Relef."

"Who?"

"A soldier of mine," he replied. Then he paused and shook his head. "A former soldier," he amended. "He was probably the least motivated person I've ever met. Couldn't get him to care about anything, really. He was the kind of person who'd sleep all day if he could."

"Gee, thanks," Sans said jokingly.

"I'm not finished." Grandt closed his eyes and remembered back to all those years ago. "He always had to be coerced into doing anything. Usually, it was his sister or me who had to do it. Honestly, I'm pretty sure he only joined the army 'cause she made him. She was always more interested in fighting than him, anyway."

He smiled fondly. "But when he _did_ care? When he actually wanted to get something done? He threw himself into it. It was all he thought of. He'd obsess over finishing a book or making the perfect quiche, and then he'd slink back off to sleep."

"Doesn't sound like a good soldier," Sans observed.

"Oh, Relef was _awful_ when it came to combat," Grandt laughed, opening his eyes. "He'd struggle to run laps, and he barely could barely hold his own against… well, against _anything_."

"I'm gonna guess there's a good part to this guy?"

Grandt slowly pressed his fingers together. "… he was a genius." His eyes turned towards the counter. "Strategy, politics… He could outmaneuver anyone in them. I always used to tell him, 'Relef, you make a better politician than you do a soldier.'"

"And what'd he say?" Sans asked.

"He agreed. But he didn't want to leave us all behind, so he stayed." A pause. "Relef was always so loyal to the rest of us. He wasn't a strong man, but he was a damn good one." Another pause, longer this time. "It's why I was–"

And then he cut himself off. And he stopped. And he shut his eyes tight.

 _Blood. Blood was splattered everywhere and on everything. Torn flesh and ripped clothing. Fire burning. Wood burning. Everything ablaze and everyone_

 _Corpses._

 _Relef._

"No."

"Grandt? You alright?"

"No," Grandt repeated. "Let's just… Let's talk about something else, alright? Anything else?"

"Did something happen to him?"

"Sans."

"Did he die?"

" _Sans_!"

Grandt didn't mean to slam his fist against the countertop. He didn't mean to startle the bartender and have him drop his glass and have it shatter all over the ground. He didn't mean to scream like that.

It just… happened.

His hand was trembling. His eyes stung – there weren't daggers, but there were needles. His eyes felt wet and hot and tired. His teeth were clenched and grinding against themselves.

His throat was hoarse, too. He'd screamed like that before, but he would never get used to it.

"I'm sorry," he said to Sans. "I'm so sorry," he said to the bartender.

He pressed his elbows against the counter pulled his head down. His eyes slammed shut, and he didn't bother to reopen them. He could feel the needles, but he didn't care about them. Just like Relef, he didn't care about anything.

The entire place was silent, and Grandt barely noticed. He heard the sound of sweeping, and he heard the sound of glass shards being swept up. And nothing else. Sans hadn't said a word. The bartender hadn't said a word. He didn't know if there were any words to say, anymore.

It was all just silence.

Silence and glass and wood and dust.

"Grandt," Sans said after a while. "Look, I'm–"

And then a new sound: the sound of the door creaking open. The sound of wood scraping against wood. A sound like claws – like someone who had claws instead of feet.

"Sorry," said a voice in an accent – what accent was it? Grandt didn't care enough to place it –, "I'm lookin' for my son. You see him anywhere?"

"It's two in the morning," Sans said. "You, uh… You sure he's out right now?"

"He's gotta be. He ain't at home." There was a sigh, and then the sound of claws became louder. Closer. "I came back ta patch things up with him. And he went and ran off on me." Then he laughed. It was an empty, bitter sort of laugh. "That's not funny."

Then there was a pause – long and lasting –, and Grandt heard the speaker as he came closer. He tried not to pay attention, but he couldn't help it. There weren't any sounds except for glass and claws and sweeping and silence. He would've heard it no matter what he did.

Then the speaker asked, startled, "What happened here?"

"I dropped a glass." It was another voice he didn't recognize, smooth and calm. Grandt guessed it was the bartender.

"Ah." The speaker was quiet for a moment. "So, uh…"

"Sorry." That was Sans. "I ain't seen him around. Haven't seen him all day." Then, "How 'bout you, Grandt?"

It took Grandt a moment to realize Sans was speaking to him. He slowly removed his hands from his head and pulled himself up. He felt awful – angry and remorseful and stupid.

"What is it?" he mumbled.

"My son," repeated the speaker. "You seen him?"

Grandt shook his head and turned towards the speaker. He was a bizarre sort of creature; at first, Grandt mistook him for an owl, but on closer inspection he more resembled some kind of drake with a snowflake-shaped head. There were light-blue scales on his wings and head, but his stomach and beak were both a yellowish color. Oddly enough, he was clothed – the glasses made sense, of course, but the pink bowtie and shoes were more than a little strange.

Honestly, Grandt wouldn't have cared about his appearance at all. He would've just chalked the speaker up to being yet another strange monster, like those dogs from earlier, were it not for one point that set them apart.

He _recognized_ this guy.

He didn't know he recognized him or where he'd seen him before, but the speaker's general shape and appearance struck him as remarkably familiar. Grandt had definitely seen him before – or, at least, he'd seen someone remarkably similar.

"… I-I might've," he said after a moment.

The speaker's eyes suddenly lit up. He grinned, and Grandt could see that his teeth seemed to shift around in his mouth. (Wait, why did he have teeth? Didn't he have a beak?)

"You're sure?" The speaker sounded excited; Grandt could hardly blame him.

He'd probably have felt the same way if his son had been found.

"Maybe," Grandt said. "I'm not sure, but I _think_ I saw him earlier." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head was still full of guilt and self-loathing. "Does he look like you, at all?"

"Pretty similar. I'm a bit biggah, though."

"Yeah, then I think so." Grandt closed his eyes for a moment and tried to will all that negativity away. He had to think this through. "Must've been back in the forest when I saw him."

"Grandt, what're you talkin' about?" Sans asked, leaning in a bit. "I didn't see him."

"Then it was before you joined me," Grandt replied. "Before you and Toriel came to give me a hand. So… that place out by the Ruins." He leaned his head back. "Yeah, I think I remember now. He flew by on the main path, and he kept muttering these weird puns…"

The speaker – the _father_ , Grandt mentally amended – grimaced. "That's him! That's my son." He sighed. "Sorry you had ta hear that. He ain't a comedian. He really ain't all that funny."

Sans grinned. "Whaddaya mean?" he asked. "Snowdrake's hilarious."

"Maybe ta you, Sans," the father muttered. "You find _anything_ funny. But to the rest of us, Snowy's 'jokes' are pretty quick ta melt. Undah pressure."

Then he looked back over to Grandt. "Sorry," he said. "You know if he's still out there?"

"I don't know," Grandt admitted. "I saw him… probably a few hours ago, now that I think about it. And even then, I didn't see him for long."

"It's fine. Just a clue's fine." The father nodded to him. "Thanks. Thanks a bunch, pal."

Then the father extended a wing. "Name's Floedrake – call me Floe. How 'bout you?"

It took Grandt a moment to realize that he was supposed to take the wing. "Ah, sorry," he said as he slowly grasped it. It felt cold, but not uncomfortably so. "My name's Grandt."

"Grandt, eh? Nice name. I'll be sure to remembah it." Floe laughed at that. "Ah… That's not funny."

Then he looked over at the bar and nodded to the flame-headed bartender. "Grillby, their stuff. Put it on my tab."

"Hey," Sans said, waving him off. "Ya don't have to do that."

Floe grinned. "Yeah," he said. "What's your point?"

"I could be wrong," Grandt pointed out. "There's always a chance he's not out there."

"Sure there is," Floe replied. He started walking out towards the door. "There's also a chance he _is_. And that," he added, "ain't something I'm willing to pass up."

Sans looked over at him. "If the kid _snows_ up, we'll hold him for ya."

Floe frowned. "Y'know, Sans," he said. "One of these days I'm gonna get back at you. For gettin' Snowy inta puns. But today ain't that day. Maybe tomorrow."

And with that, he stepped out into the dark night outside, shutting door behind him. It creaked shut just as it had creaked open.

Grandt sat still for a moment, still trying to process what had just happened. No matter how much calmer he'd become, his mind was still awash with all that negativity from before – mostly because he could still hear the bartender sweeping up glass from behind him. It was like some strange, grim reminder of how badly he'd just screwed up.

Sans nudged him on the shoulder. "Ya doing better, now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Grandt said. It wasn't really a lie, this time. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." Sans ate a fry off his plate. "I didn't wanna have to pull you outta that funk on my own."

Grandt sighed. "Look, Sans. I-I'm sorry, but I can't pay for that glass–"

But Sans waved him off. "It's fine," he said. "It's not your fault. Right, Grillby?"

The bartender – Grillby – looked back over at Sans from where he was sweeping. He didn't speak; instead, he just vaguely nodded his head, and then he went right back to sweeping up the glass.

Strange. Hadn't he spoken earlier?

"Besides," Sans continued, "it's my fault, really. Shouldn't've pressed you about that guy."

"You mean Relef?" Even saying his name made Grandt feel ill.

"Yeah. Him." Sans was quiet for a moment. It was like he was trying to say something, but no words would come out.

Maybe they were more similar than Grandt had initially thought.

So Grandt decided to take the initiative. "So that guy who came in just now," he said. "Do you know him?"

"Floedrake?" Sans asked. "Yeah, we go back a bit. He's a big-name comedian for MTT, so pretty much everyone knows him." There was a pause. "Floe and his kid used to live here, but they left for Hotland when Floe became famous."

"Hotland?" Grandt asked.

"The region after Waterfall," Sans answered. "It's, uh… It's pretty much a big lava chamber."

"Oh," Grandt said. And then the realization hit. "Mt. Ebott's a _volcano_?!"

Sans chuckled. "Guess so."

Grandt sighed and ate more of his fries. They'd gone cold, but he didn't mind. "Putting that aside for now…" he said. "I'm guessing that Floe's son came here?"

"Yep. He and his dad weren't gettin' along too well, so Snowy came here. Apparently, the people he's staying with are friends of the family."

"Makes sense," Grandt replied. "I'd hardly want to be out here on my own."

"What, 'cause you're a human?" Sans asked casually.

Grandt would've winced, were it not for the fact that Grillby either wasn't paying attention or didn't care enough to look.

"No, it's not that. It's just… Well…" Grandt hesitated for a moment. "It's dangerous out here."

Sans snorted. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" Grandt said. "I-I mean, sure, you're all fine. Snowdin's safe, and most of the locals seem friendly enough." Then he pressed his fingers together slowly. "But it's not always like that."

"Really? What, did a kid trip you or something?" A pause. "Or did you meet Jerry? I mean, he's a jerk, but–"

"Not that," Grandt said, mentally making a note to watch out for this "Jerry" in the future. "No, it's something different."

Was this the right thing to say? And if so, was it the right time to mention it?

But if he didn't say it now, what _was_ the right time to bring it up? When it was too late? When people had already been killed or maimed?

No. He couldn't bring himself to mention his condition, but he could at least mention this. It was the least he could do.

"S…" Grandt didn't realize he'd been holding his breath that whole time, and he broke out into a brief fit of coughing. "Sans," he tried again. "I know who screwed up my legs. I know who locked Toriel in the Ruins."

There was a pause, and then Sans's jovial grin seemed to falter. "… what?"

"I know who did it," Grandt said. "I know who did all of this."

"Who?" The question was a bit more frantic than Grandt had expected.

"You're gonna think I'm joking," Grandt muttered. "You're gonna think I'm making it all up. It's not something that's easy to swallow."

"Just say it," urged Sans.

Grandt leaned back as far as he could. His lips felt dry. There was a sudden sense of terror that gripped his heart. He didn't know what or why it was, but it was there.

Even so, there wasn't any going back, now. It was too late for that.

Grandt licked his lips. "It's a flower," he said. " _He's_ a flower. A tiny flower."

And then something remarkable happened. Grandt had seen Sans emote before; he'd seen him become sheepish or ashamed, happy or excited. But he'd never even imagined Sans could create _this_ expression.

His face seemed to pale, and the lights in his eyes dimmed. His fingers slid to the countertop, where they seemed to dig into the wood. The smile remained, but the joy behind it completely evaporated.

" _What_ ," he _hissed_ , "did you just say?"

 _Anger_. White-hot, pure, and unfiltered. It was rage and fear and shock all rolled up into a single expression. Grandt had seen it before on soldiers whose loved ones had been slain or whose bodies had been broken beyond repair. It was the expression of someone who was fully willing to kill and who didn't care what happened afterward.

Grandt shrunk down in his seat. "A… A flower," he choked out. "It was a flower. His name's Flowey. Flowey the Flower."

"Grandt." Sans's eyes were gone now. "Are you telling me the truth?"

"Y-yes," Grandt replied just as quickly as before. He didn't dare to look into those eye sockets. "I'm being honest. He attacked me when I first came down here. He can control plant matter. I've seen it myself."

There was another moment of silence, and then Sans nodded. "Alright," he said. His eyes still hadn't come back.

"Sans, please," Grandt begged. "Don't do anything reckless."

Sans paused. He blinked, and when he reopened his eyes, the lights had returned. "Whaddaya mean, 'reckless'?" he asked – Grandt would've assumed he'd gone back to normal if it weren't for the anger resting just below his voice. "Ya think I'm the kinda guy who goes outta his way to be reckless?"

"Sans, I'm serious. Please." Grandt's arms shook against the countertop. "Promise me."

There was a long pause. "I hate making promises."

"That's fine. You don't have to like it. Just… Just please."

He knew Sans was strong. He _knew_ that. But he also knew that Flowey was strong, too. He didn't want to find out who was stronger if it meant Sans could die in the process.

Grandt didn't know if Sans understood that. Sans could've been planning to throw himself into the meat grinder for the sake of satiating his anger. Nothing would've stopped him. Grandt certainly couldn't stop him.

If he couldn't fight off Warren in his prime, he didn't stand a chance against Sans in his old age.

 _Warren._

Another name that left a bitter taste in his mouth, but for different reasons than Relef's. Why did keep forcing himself to remember them? It was too late, and they were all gone. There was no reason to keep obsessing over it.

But still–

"Sorry," Sans said, cutting through Grandt's thoughts. "I can't make that promise."

Grandt slumped over a bit. Once again, he didn't realize he'd been holding his breath for so long. "I-I see."

"That being said," Sans continued, drawing Grandt's attention back to himself, "how 'bout I tell ya something else?"

Grandt looked up. "What's that?"

"I'm not gonna promise that," Sans said, "but I won't go after him now. There's no reason for it." Then his grin seemed to return, and Grandt could've sworn that it was back to its usual self. "That being said, if he tries anything else, that all goes right out the window. That alright with you?"

Grandt nodded slowly, and a smile crept back over his face. "Yes," he said. "That's fine with me."

So long as Sans wasn't running off to get himself killed, Grandt couldn't care less what he said. That was all that really mattered to him. All that mattered was making sure that nobody else he cared for went and died on him. Too many good people had already been lost.

"Alright," Sans said, catching him a bit off guard. "We should probably get heading back."

"Now?" Grandt asked. "But we haven't even touched our burgers. You've barely eaten _anything_."

"Then we'll take 'em back with us. Grillby doesn't mind, as long as we return the plates eventually."

"'Eventually'?"

"Yep."

"Alright," Grandt sighed. He knew better than to argue, at this point. He was too tired for it. "But… I think I can walk by myself, this time."

Sans chuckled. "You sure about that?"

"I think so," Grandt said. "My legs feel better than they did when we got here."

"You wanna test it again, just to be safe?"

Grandt looked out in front of him. The wooden floor was a lot less inviting for practice than the carpet. "… maybe I'll wait until we're outside," he relented.

Sans snorted, but he didn't say anything else. He just took Grandt's arm in his own and guided him down to the floor. Grandt's legs were still unsteady, but it felt as though the stilts had been filled in more. Maybe he really _could_ walk on his own.

Probably not, though.

Grandt and Sans each grabbed a plate in their free hands, and the two began the slow, arduous process of walking towards the door.

 _It's strange,_ Grandt thought to himself as they shambled along. He hadn't expected himself to come to care so much for what happened down in the Underground. In fact, he'd expected the opposite – that he'd go through the entire place quickly, without bothering to speak to anyone, just so that he could make it out and see Frisk once more before he died.

It wasn't just Sans who'd shocked him in this way – it was everyone. It was Toriel and Papyrus and Sans and those dogs and Floe. They were all such strange people. They were all such _wonderful_ people. They were the kind of people he wished he could introduce to Frisk and everyone back in Ebott. They were the kind of people that, in spite of himself, he cared for. They were the kind of people that he worried about.

And if it weren't for him wishing to see Frisk one last time, Grandt could've made a very strong argument for why dying in the Underground may not have been such a bad thing, after all.

* * *

 _No._

 _No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!_

How dare he?! That idiot! That stupid old moron!

He'd ruined it! He'd ruined _everything_!

Now what was he supposed to do? He couldn't get close to Grandt; Sans would kill him for sure. He couldn't get close to Toriel or Papyrus or anyone else.

It was over. It was done. There was nothing left for him to do except to set everything back to zero. Then everything would return to normal. Sans would forget about him and he could make it so that the stupid old bastard wouldn't say anything.

It was simple. It would be so simple.

But he didn't _want_ to do that. Not yet. It was too early. If he set everything back now, what good would that do him? Grandt'd get away with screwing him over!

Or… _this_ timeline's Grandt would, at least.

He wouldn't have that. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the idiot could go and screw him over and not suffer at all for it.

No. _No_. He _would_ suffer.

He would make sure of that.

And then he heard something from nearby. Wings. Wings and mumbling and frustration.

He paused, and his frown slowly became a wide-toothed smirk. Oh. _Oh_. He could've laughed, then, but he restrained himself; there was no point in alerting the passerby just yet.

But it was so simple. So simple and so easy and so _deliciously_ cruel.

Flowey giggled behind his leaves quietly so that the passerby wouldn't notice him. But then again, by that point, it didn't matter if he did.

* * *

 **AN: When I decided to split these chapters in half, I was worried that one would be much longer than the other. Turns out that I was completely wrong.**

 **So this is the chapter where I initially planned to introduce Grandt's identity as a soldier. I'm glad I did it earlier, since that would've both horribly inflated this chapter's word count (and I mean even more than it already is) and not given me the opportunity to describe him in the context of being a soldier.**

 **The two main things I wanted to get across in this chapter involved Snowdrake's father (who I've taken the liberty of naming) coming in to ask about his son and Grandt telling Sans about Flowey. The introduction of Relef as a character (and to a much, much lesser extent, Warren) is also important, but that information won't be relevant for a while.**

 **Also, Sans emotes a lot in this story for some reason. I'm not sure whether or not that's a good thing, but I can at least justify his anger towards Flowey for messing with Papyrus and Toriel (oh and that Grandt guy, I guess).**

 **As always, thanks to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read this story! I'll see you all next time, when I write a chapter that I can hopefully actually finish by Tuesday!**


	17. Chapter 2-13

Sans was lying on his mattress, arms behind his head, with a pile of rolled up sheets sitting not a foot away on the floor. He didn't bother to use sheets or covers or anything like that. Sometimes he didn't even use the mattress.

It was about four in the morning, maybe. Sans didn't know for sure, considering that there wasn't a clock in his room. Even if there was, he wasn't sure if he'd check it. He probably wouldn't.

But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that he'd been lying down for a long time and hadn't been able to fall asleep. He was thinking too much for that.

It was strange. Most of the time, Sans could lie down (or stand up, really) and he'd be asleep in seconds. Sleeping was easy; waking up was the hard part.

Tonight was different, though. No matter how hard he tried to forget about everything, Sans's mind kept going back to everything Grandt told him at Grillby's. And every time he thought of the flower or the soldier or Floe and Snowy, his mind always went right back to Grandt himself.

What was with that guy, anyway? It was strange. By all rights, Sans shouldn't have cared about him at all. He should've been someone Sans saw once and then forgot about in a few days. He'd leave Snowdin, probably die in Waterfall (or if he was really, _really_ lucky, Hotland), and that'd be the end of it. The monsters would have five human SOULS, and the name "Grandt Journa" would never be spoken again.

Honestly, Sans never went out of his way to befriend anyone. It wasn't because he was scared of losing them or anything silly like that. It was just because he didn't care enough to spend time with more people than he absolutely _had_ to – well, with a few exceptions, of course.

But Grandt was different. Grandt had pretty much grabbed Sans's arm and pulled him along for the ride. He'd forced Sans to become his friend, but Sans had also _chosen_ to be forced to go along, if that made any sense. Maybe it didn't, but he didn't care.

Grandt was strange, too. Most of the time, a person's LOVE determined how good they were. It was a benchmark of their innocence or evilness, and people with higher numbers tended to be monstrous more often than not. A person with a LOVE as high as fifteen would've had to have killed dozens of people – maybe even hundreds.

And that's why he'd kept such a close eye on Grandt all along. It was because he thought that it was an act; that his compassion and kindness were all some sort of game, and that he'd turn around and slaughter everyone in sight when the chance came. So Sans had stayed by Grandt's side throughout his trek through the forest, mostly because Toriel was so kind and trusting as to go with him the whole time.

If Grandt did turn out to be a bad guy all along, at least Sans would be there to keep her and Papyrus safe.

He wasn't a bad guy, though. Maybe it was because of his age, but Grandt hadn't even raised a finger against anyone in the forest. Even when it was dangerous – even when it looked like he was going to die –, Grandt sat back and trusted Sans and Toriel to protect him. He'd literally trusted them with his life, even though Sans had tried to kill him not long beforehand.

How could he feel nothing for someone like that?

It was around halfway through Snowdin Forest that Sans decided that Grandt was a good man. Not a wonderful man – a wonderful man had no deaths to his name –, but a good man. And then it went on, and he became a great man – a man willing to make jokes and puns, who cared about his family so much that he'd physically destroy himself just to see them one last time.

He still wasn't a wonderful man, but he was someone who Sans was willing to help out, anyway. He was someone Sans was willing to carry into Snowdin or over to Grillby's if he needed it. The fact that Toriel and Papyrus also saw him as a friend was just a bonus.

But still, Sans had to wonder if he'd have felt the same thing if he'd chosen to not go along with Grandt at all. Maybe if he'd just stayed back and done nothing, he'd see Grandt as just another human who'd inevitably wind up dead. Maybe if Toriel'd never exited the Ruins, Grandt _would_ have wound up being someone he'd have already forgotten about by now.

Maybe Sans would've been the one to kill him off.

But he _hadn't_ killed him. He'd just left him lying in the snow. He'd just left him there because he couldn't muster up the energy to lean over. For the first time in his life, his laziness had done some good.

Despite that, he was somehow far more thankful for Grandt needing him to help out. Sure, a glass of water wasn't too hard to get, but that wasn't what mattered. He'd been asleep on his mattress when Grandt fell, and he'd considered doing nothing until he remembered that Papyrus usually slept with earplugs in on Christmas Eve. ("If I wake up and Santa's out there," he'd claimed about a year ago, "he might leave without dropping off his gifts!") It was only then that he'd been able to force himself to get out of bed.

He was glad he did, really. Even if all Sans did was grab Grandt a glass of water and something to eat, it was still _something_. The fact that he'd gone out of his way to do anything at all made him happier than it should've. It proved, in a way, that he wasn't just a dead, broken mess of a skeleton. Maybe there was something left inside of him that was salvageable, after all.

Sans hadn't told Grandt why he'd bothered to help him out. Maybe it was because he didn't care enough to explain it, or maybe it was because his reasons were just too complex. It didn't matter.

He'd helped Grandt because Toriel cared about him. He'd helped Grandt because Papyrus cared about him. Because Grandt had gotten Toriel out of the Ruins (even if Sans had been the one to truly get her to leave, she wouldn't have been interested in going if Grandt hadn't run off). Because he'd given Sans more than one major reason to keep going. Because he was a person who cared just as much for his granddaughter as Sans cared for Papyrus. Because Sans owed it to him after nearly crushing his throat just a day before. Because if he'd done nothing, Papyrus would've berated him about it forever.

And because no matter what he said, Sans cared about Grandt, too.

That's why he'd told Grandt he didn't plan to go after Flowey. He could probably defeat him – hell, Sans would be more surprised if he _couldn't_ take him down. But Grandt was worried, so Sans told him he wouldn't try if he didn't have to. He hoped that decision wouldn't come back to bite him later on.

God, that flower pissed him off, though. It wasn't enough that he'd screwed with Papyrus. That alone made Sans angry, but not murderously so. No, what truly made Sans seethe was the fact that Flowey had to go and lock Toriel in the Ruins. Then he had the nerve to screw up Grandt's legs, and for what? So he could laugh at them?

If Grandt hadn't told him not to go after Flowey, Sans would've uprooted that bastard himself. It would've been so simple.

But he wasn't going to. Not yet, at least. If the chance came to take him out, Sans wouldn't exactly turn away. But for now, he could stand to sit idly by and watch.

After all, that's all he'd ever done.

Well, not _all_ he'd ever done. There was a time when Sans could look at the world around him and love it, but those days were long passed. He couldn't even remember them anymore. All he knew was that he'd cared about things besides Papyrus and, to a lesser extent, Toriel. All he knew was that he couldn't bring himself to go and talk to the people he knew back then, as he didn't want them to talk about how he'd changed. He didn't want them to ask why or how he'd lost the will to do… to do _anything_.

How many years had it been? How many years since everything went to hell? Was it five? Six? Or was it longer than that? Did it even matter?

No, of course not.

Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

Nothing mattered except for keeping Papyrus safe and happy and _alive_. If he died, Sans didn't know what he would do. He doubted he'd do anything. He'd probably just curl up in a ball and die.

Toriel was important, but Papyrus was family. He was the only family Sans had left, and Sans would make damn sure that nothing would happen to him. He'd go through Hell itself to keep him safe.

And then he came to sudden realization that he and Grandt were more similar than he'd first thought.

Sans decided, then, that when he woke up again he'd make sure he at least gave Grandt a hand going forward. Even if it wasn't much, he could at least do _something_ of value. Maybe it was just because he liked this sudden feeling of being valuable to the people around him, or maybe it was because he'd become so lazy that doing nothing had become too much work. Either way, it didn't matter.

Tomorrow, Sans would help him at least find his way into Waterfall. He still owed him; in a way, Sans wondered if he'd owe Grandt forever.

But that didn't matter right now. All that mattered was getting some rest so that he wouldn't be secretly exhausted throughout all of Christmas Day. Papyrus wouldn't let him sleep in too late (the year before, he'd actually climbed in through Sans's window and taken him outside to wake him up. Sans had been extremely thankful that Papyrus hadn't noticed all the letters to Santa he'd secretly taken from the mailbox every year). Still, sleep was important, and Sans didn't really care enough to do anything else right now.

Tomorrow, though, he'd take care of everything.

* * *

" _He's evil," the child had told them between sobbing laughter. "He's evil! He killed everyone!"_

She'd never given them his name. Toriel hadn't pressed the issue. God knew Asgore never even dared to bring it up; he was too worried about reopening old wounds to do that. The only one who probably knew for sure was Asriel. Those two had always been so close that Toriel imagined they'd probably discussed it at least once or twice.

 _The War._

It was impossible to mention it without the unsaid capitalization. Every monster had at least heard of it, but few knew exactly what it was or why it came about. All they knew was that the child had fled from it. All they knew was that the War had driven her to Mt. Ebott, and that it had taken her parents away.

All they knew was that it drove a deep hatred of humanity into her heart. One that she shared often between self-deprecating, sobbing laughter. All they knew was that she had been scarred and broken by one man's barbarous actions.

It was strange. Before that day, Toriel had never truly hated anyone. She couldn't. She firmly believed that hatred was worthless, and that everybody could work out their differences if they really tried.

But listening to the way the child described that man, Toriel couldn't help but feel a deep, bubbling anger in her heart every time she thought of him. She didn't know his name, his age, or his motives, but she still hated him. He'd broken an innocent child down on a fundamental level. He'd taken her family and cast her out to the mountainside to die. He'd destroyed her life, and Toriel shuddered to think of how many others he must have broken down.

For that reason, she needed to know if the War had yet to end. She needed to know if that cruel man's twisted actions were still tearing away at everyone around him. It was all she could do to gain at least _some_ sort of closure, no matter how small. Even if it meant she had to privately celebrate that man's death.

Toriel shuddered at the thought of it. How could she take comfort in someone else's death? How could she even imagine it? It wasn't right.

And yet there she was, lying on a bed in the Snowed Inn and thinking about it. It was four in the morning, based on her phone's clock. She'd woken up about an hour ago, and she hadn't been able to fall asleep again. Somehow, the War had wormed its way back into her mind, and it hadn't released its grip.

No, she knew exactly how she'd thought of it. It was Grandt. He was a soldier, and soldiers fought in wars, and he'd been pushed to the mountainside by the death of his child.

How could she _not_ think of the child again? How could she not think of her, lying down and muttering about evil humans and good monsters? Their situations had been so depressingly similar that she'd almost scooped Grandt up into a hug right there. A large part of her wished she had.

It was too late now, though.

Still, she knew she had to ask him about the War. It pained her to think of bringing those memories back to the surface so soon – especially on Christmas –, but she needed to know. She had to. It was the only way to lay those questions of fourteen years to rest. It was the only way she could gain closure.

Tomorrow, Toriel decided, she would ask him. She would apologize for it first, though. Grandt would tell her the truth – at least, that's what she hoped would happen –, and everything would be good again.

No, not good. It would never truly be good. Good was coming home from her duties to find Asriel and the child waiting for her, telling her about their day. Good was baking butterscotch pies and reading beside the fire. Good was falling asleep at night beside the man she loved more than anyone else, next to the room where her children lay sleeping.

It would never be that way again. It was lost, now. Gone. She could try to reclaim it as much as she wanted, but it would never come back. Her attempts at mercy and compassion had only left her stuck in those Ruins, unwilling to leave until Grandt came and forced her hand.

It was just as that book said: "It's a beautiful story. However, reality doesn't work that way. Our merciful actions didn't lead us to some wonderful ending."

Toriel didn't fully agree with that. Mercy did, of course, lead to happiness. It lead to friendships and compassion and kindness. But at the same time, the book wasn't completely wrong.

Mercy lead to silence, too. It lead to people staying quiet because they believed that silence was being compassionate. Because they feared that their words could cut deeper than any blade.

But by being merciful, Toriel allowed the truth to stay buried. She didn't want that. Every monster knew about the War, and no monster knew of whether or not it had ended. It was not just closure for her, then. It was closure for everyone. For every monster that lived in doubt, wondering if the surface was even worth fighting for.

If Grandt told her that the War was over, those feelings of doubt could be broken. If he told her the War was still ongoing, then that closure would never come to pass. She'd know that man still lived, and that he still enacted his cruelty even today.

Toriel never even considered the idea that he'd won. It was too horrible to think about, and so she did everything possible to block that image from her mind.

She just prayed that he would speak at all. She prayed that her refusing to show his feelings mercy would be valuable. That it could be forgiven. She prayed that she could muster the strength to ask that question that was so simple yet so difficult. Most of all, she prayed that she could continue to keep Grandt and his SOUL safe from those who sought to take it. She owed him that much, at least.

But for now, sleep was important, and Toriel's hopeful mind drifted away even as she continued to pray that Grandt would be willing to speak about the War that had stolen so much from him.

Tomorrow, though, she'd take care of everything.

* * *

Papyrus was asleep. His dreams were filled with humans and Christmas and Santa and the Royal Guard.

Tomorrow, he'd call up Undyne and tell her the good news. He'd tell her about the human and how he'd captured him. He'd become a member of the Royal Guard, and Undyne would lead Grandt to the capital where he could exit the mountain.

He hoped she wasn't too rough with Grandt. He was a fragile guy, apparently.

But that was okay. Undyne was such a nice person that Papyrus doubted she'd even dream of hurting Grandt intentionally. It'd be okay. It'd be hard to explain in full, but Undyne would probably listen.

Hopefully.

Well, that was okay. He didn't really need to worry about that. Tonight, all that he needed was to lie in bed and sleep and not wake up until Santa was finished.

Tomorrow, though, he'd take care of everything.

* * *

Grandt wouldn't sleep.

It wasn't that he _couldn't_ sleep. In fact, he felt quite exhausted. But he didn't want to go back and lie down. His legs were finally working again, and he couldn't bear to stay cooped up inside anymore while they were finally willing to cooperate. If it meant he had to miss out on sleep, so be it; he'd stayed up later before.

The snow crunched beneath his hiking boots. His legs were a bit unsteady, and there were a few points where he'd had to stop beforehand, but who cared? He could _walk_. His legs didn't feel like stilts anymore. Or if they did, they were certainly very good stilts.

Grandt breathed in deeply. The air was cool and crisp, and it tasted good against his lungs. There was no grease or heat behind it. It wasn't like the stale air of Sans's and Papyrus's house, nor was it like the autumnal air that consumed the Ruins. It was simply winter in its purest form, and the fact that such air could exist underground excited him to no end.

If he didn't know any better, Grandt would've said he was standing just outside of Ebott, or perhaps outside of Hartsvaldt after a good snowfall. Instead, though, he was standing just outside of Snowdin, staring at the forest just across the bridge.

 _It really is beautiful,_ he thought. _It's a shame I have to leave._

And he did plan to leave. He planned to leave because he thought – no, he _knew_ – he didn't really have a choice in the matter. If he wanted to get back to Ebott, he couldn't stand around and wait any longer. Tonight was his last chance to watch the scenery roll by, to question how the ceiling glimmered like stars. Tomorrow, he'd be off, and all of this whiteness and snow would probably disappear from his eyes forever.

Grandt paused, then, and he slowly touched his hand to his chest, just above his heart. "It's too late," he murmured to nobody, "isn't it?"

Nine. What could he do with nine? Even if he could make it out, that hardly guaranteed that he'd be able to walk all the way back to Ebott on his own. He'd probably have to climb down the mountainside. He wasn't in any shape to do that, and he highly doubted he would be by the time he… _if_ he got out.

But still, he had to try. He _had_ to. There wasn't a choice; there weren't multiple paths to walk or doors to open. He either died walking, or he died sitting down. Either way, he wasn't exactly thrilled by his "options."

He would walk, though. He'd walk until his legs broke, and then he'd crawl. He'd crawl until his heart finally decided to kill him. And even then, he'd pull himself along with his bloody fingernails until his body failed completely.

If he could see Frisk one last time – if he could see _anybody_ one last time –, he hardly cared about such silly things as death. There was a chance, and he'd take that chance. That was all there was to it.

Maybe he couldn't truly protect Frisk. Maybe that man would come and try to take her away. He could at least rest easy knowing that the people of Ebott would probably put up a hell of a fight. They could protect her, even if he couldn't.

He thrust his hands into his pockets. The cold air was getting to him, and Grandt briefly contemplated whether or not he should turn back and head back to sleep. He had a long walk ahead of him, if Sans was to be believed – a long walk, and longer puzzles.

 _Relef would love this place,_ he thought to himself. _He always loved puzzles._

That bile rose up in his throat again. Grandt had hoped that talking about Relef would be good. Grandt thought if he spoke about the days before everything went to hell, maybe he could force himself to remember him that way. But it hadn't worked. If anything, it only made him angrier.

He hated that. He hated it so much, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. That scene was so ingrained into his memory that nothing could block it out. It just came back again and again – the fire burning, the corpses and blood, and that ever-present smell of rotting flesh.

He never should've mentioned Relef at all. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so sick to his stomach. Even the cool air did nothing to hold it back. At least it kept him from still smelling the smoke and blood and rot. At least it gave him the chance to think about something other than death and decay.

Grandt leaned himself against a nearby tree. Its bark was rough and uneven, but Grandt hardly cared. He was tired, and all that he wanted was a chance to stop thinking about Relef and Warren and the surface. If he could stop thinking about that damned war for even a moment, why wouldn't he?

He slid down the tree until he was simply sitting against it. Then, slowly, Grandt pulled out that phone Toriel had been so kind to give him. It was just to check the time – which he found, much to his dismay, to be four in the morning –, but Grandt found himself looking at his contacts out of sheer curiosity. He'd never really taken the time to study either Sans's or Toriel's numbers. Now he saw them, and a part of him wasn't surprised at all.

It seemed that phone numbers in the Underground consisted of only four digits. Probably a result of the low population, given that there was no need for complicated numbers, otherwise. Toriel's number was fairly generic – four apparently random numbers between zero and ten. Sans's, on the other hand, made Grandt grin a little.

It was just the number four repeated four times. Go figure, Sans would go with the laziest possible option. Grandt supposed it was easier to remember this way. He certainly wouldn't forget it any time soon, at least.

" _Hey, just remember," Sans had told him after dropping him back at the house, "if ya need something, gimme a ring. Who knows? Maybe I won't just_ phone _it in for once."_

Grandt remembered chuckling at the time. He was almost positive that Sans wouldn't pick up, though. Even if he did, so what? It wasn't like Grandt really had a concrete reason for calling either him or Toriel. Maybe if he decided to be reckless and run off without saying goodbye, but what good would that do? It'd just be stupid.

Which was why he had no doubt he'd wind up doing it, anyway.

He smiled to himself. At least he could accept his own stupidity, if nothing else. He'd have to work on curbing it in the next few days. One wrong move would get him killed for sure.

Then again, he'd also probably have Sans and Toriel worrying about him all the while. Well, Toriel would worry, at least. Sans would probably tell jokes and help him solve puzzles. Then Toriel would start telling jokes, too, and the three of them would laugh over silly things like ketchup bottles and oranges.

Just like how things were supposed to be.

Grandt leaned back into the tree and felt his eyes begin to droop shut. Maybe he'd just sleep out here tonight. Right outside the town next to this tree, where he could dream good dreams about his newfound friends. It'd be nice. It'd be nice to just have a moment to himself, where he didn't have to worry about Frisk or Kira or Dyse or Relef or anybody else.

It was actually kind of funny, now that he thought about it. Here he was, trying to sleep, while the inn sat not ten feet away from him. But still, the cool air was too nice to pass down, so he sat where he was and breathed in deeply.

It was nice. It was beautiful. It was all just so lovely. He didn't really want to do anything right now besides sit back and sleep.

Tomorrow, though, he'd–

And then there was a sudden snap, loud and sharp. Grandt's eyes burst open, and any tiredness immediately disappeared. He stood up suddenly. His hand pressed against the tree behind him.

He glanced about frantically. That was too loud of a crash to have come from a nearby house or building; in fact, it sounded as though it had come from right next to him. Based on the ringing in his left ear, he was probably right in that assumption.

Then he noticed something strange about the side of the inn; something he hadn't noticed before. There were symbols carved into the wood, and as he stepped closer, Grandt realized that they were letters. Large, sharp, jagged letters.

Something cracked beneath his foot. Grandt glanced down and saw what looked like a scale lying in the middle of the snow, along with the pieces of plant debris that he'd just stepped on. The scale seemed to be one of Floe's – small and light-blue. But somehow, it was even smaller than Floe's, and it almost looked _newer_. It was like it belonged to someone younger.

He shook his head. Probably just another drake, or maybe Floe's son had left it behind before he left. It was nestled in a corner, so it wasn't implausible that someone had shed it and just decided not to pick it up.

As for the plant matter, it probably came from one of those trees. But then, why would there be vines instead of branches or pine needles? There must have been five or six small, thin, and thorny vines just sitting there next to the wall. It looked _wrong_ , somehow, and Grandt almost felt ill just by looking at them.

He quickly turned his eyes back to the letters carved into the inn's wall. It was hard to read them for a moment. They sat in such a shadowed place that Grandt wasn't surprised he'd missed them the first time around. He stepped even closer.

And then he read the words, and everything stopped:

 **COME GET** **THE BRAT,** **OLD MAN**


	18. Chapter 2-14

For a moment, Grandt's heart stopped beating.

Then he ran.

His heart was beating quickly, but he didn't care. His legs shuddered beneath him, but he didn't care. All he cared about was running and not stopping and _dammit, keep going! Get back up, now!_

 _Come get the brat, old man._

Those words echoed in his mind, spurring him onward. There was a child in danger. That was all that mattered. Nothing else was important. Nothing else _could_ be important.

Snowdrake had been kidnapped. He'd been kidnapped, and now Flowey was going to kill him if Grandt didn't do anything.

 _Flowey_.

It was clear now. It was obvious who the villain was, who the mastermind behind this wretched tale had turned out to be. It wasn't the man who'd murdered Shord and Fain; it wasn't the man who'd slain the emperor and torn Idyllia in two; it wasn't those beasts from Winterfell, led by that evil woman; it wasn't even his shitty heart that'd made it impossible for him to live a long and happy life.

It was a flower. It was a tiny golden _bastard_ of a flower.

He was the one who'd attacked Grandt after he fell. He was the one who'd locked Toriel in the Ruins. He was the one who was holding a child captive, and he was the one who'd almost certainly kill that child if he had the chance.

 _Come get the brat, old man_.

Sharp letters. Jagged letters. Like they'd been drawn in line-by-line. It was so fitting that a killer would write so sharply.

 _So why's Kallis's handwriting so neat?_

 _Shut up. Shut up about Kallis. It doesn't matter it DOESN'T MATTER shut up shut up shut up._

His heart was hurting _it hurts so much_ but he didn't care _I have to save him_.

He couldn't stand by idly anymore.

 _Bright fires. Billowing fires. Smoke and ash, clogging the air and choking his lungs. There was a man with steel wrapped around his arm. It wasn't a gauntlet; it was just random bits of metal and mythril and bronze and stone, wrapped around it sharply._

" _What do you think you're doing, Kallis?!"_

" _Traitors… don't deserve to live."_

" _The hell do you mean, 'traitors'? What the fuck are you_ doing _?!"_

 _Why can't I move?! Why can't I move why can't I_

 _Please…_

 _And then blood. The smell of blood stained everything. Blood and smoke and fire._

 _And Fain screamed._

 _She'd never screamed like that before._

* * *

Grandt didn't know how long he'd been running. He didn't even know where he was, except that he was still in the forest. He only felt pain in his chest and tears on his face. He felt cold and sad and angry and hateful.

Then he blinked. And there he was.

"Howdy, Grandt," Flowey said, smiling brightly. There was no kindness behind that smile.

Grandt couldn't respond immediately. He pressed his hand to his heart for a moment, struggling to calm himself as the red around his eyes became darker.

 _Too fast. Too fast! Dammit, calm down!_

The bastard was in front of him, and he couldn't even say anything.

"Aw, what's wrong?" Flowey taunted, his smile never wavering. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Shuh…"

Flowey leaned in closer. "Mm?"

"Sh… Shut up."

"Golly, _that's_ pretty rude of you, don't you think?" Flowey giggled. "I mean, I worked so hard to invite you out here and all, and then you go and say _that_ kinda stuff?"

"Shut _up_."

It was more forceful this time. Grandt could feel his heartbeat slow back to something resembling its normal pace. He could talk. He could breathe. He could stand. That was all he needed to do.

He just had to pretend he was back to normal. He just had to pretend that his heart wasn't probably going to give out on him if he kept this up. It was so simple.

"Why?!" he demanded. "Why'd you do this?!"

"Why?" Flowey's tone had become mocking. "Why, _indeed_? Why does anybody ever do anything?"

"Don't," Grandt hissed. "Don't you _dare_ give me that crap. _Why did you do this_?!"

And then Flowey's face changed. His smile twisted down. "Why?" he said, this time much angrier than before. " _Why_?! Because you _cheated_ , that's why! You broke the rules."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sans, you _idiot_!" Flowey said. "You told Sans! This was supposed to be between me and you, and you went and brought that stupid skeleton into it! You ruined it! You ruined _everything_!" His voice became low. "So now, I'm gonna ruin _you_."

A wave of sudden fear gripped Grandt. He took a step back, and his legs trembled beneath his weight. It was like they'd gone back to being stilts.

He tried to change the subject. "Where is he?"

A pause.

Flowey stared at him for a moment. Then the corners of his mouth twitched upward. He was smiling.

No. No, he was _smirking_. The corners of his mouth had been drawn up mockingly, and his eyes had become half-lidded. That faux-innocence from before had been dropped completely.

Grandt shuddered, but he tried to keep calm. "Where _is_ he?!" he practically shouted. His voice cracked a little on the last beat. " _Where's Snowdrake_?!"

"Snowdrake?" Flowey said, still smirking. "Who's that?"

* * *

He should've known.

"What?"

What little confidence Grandt still felt shattered like glass. His anger gave way to shock. To horror.

He wasn't there. Snowdrake wasn't there. Maybe he'd never been there at all.

Grandt's legs began to shake again. His jaw quivered. His eyes were wide.

"What?" he asked again, quieter this time. "What did you just say?"

He must've heard wrong. _He must have heard wrong_. He couldn't have–

He couldn't have–

Grandt pressed a hand against a nearby tree. His whole body was shaking, now.

"You…"

"Yes?" Flowey asked, leaning forward a bit.

"… why?"

It was a different question than before. There wasn't any anger behind it. There was only tiredness. Tiredness and defeat.

"Well, I _did_ think to take the brat at first," Flowey admitted, "but then I thought, 'What'll I do if Grandt dies thinking he's a hero? What if he dies thinking he saved someone?' That'd ruin it."

"Ruin what?"

Flowey giggled. "Your death, of course! If you died thinking you're a hero, then where's the regret? Where's the sense of failure? I thought about taking the kid and killing him in front of you –" his smirk grew when Grandt tensed up at that "– but I realized _this_ was so much more fun. What's better than a wannabe hero finding out that there's nothing to be saved at all?"

Grandt breathed in slowly. His heart was pounding again. It was faster than before, and he could see the joyful malice in Flowey's eyes.

"So that's what I did," Flowey continued. "I drew you in here 'cause this way, you can die knowing that your dying moments meant _nothing_." He giggled again, louder this time. "You didn't save anyone, you didn't kill anyone… You can die knowing that in your final moments, _nothing was accomplished_."

Grandt took a step back on his shaking legs. Then he turned around and tried to run away.

A vine reached out from the ground and wrapped around his leg. It pulled it back as he ran. Grandt fell forward, crashing against the snow with considerable force.

He tried to push himself up, but the vine around his leg wouldn't allow it. All he could do was struggle.

Flowey popped up next to his head. "You wanna know something else, Grandt?" His voice had become low and quiet again. "You wanna know why I screwed up your legs like that?"

Grandt turned his head to the side and glared daggers at the bastard. He could feel snow against his ear.

"I was gonna let you go along and do whatever," Flowey said, "but you were taking so _long_! It was getting boring, so I added something else to make it a bit more interesting. I thought if I _made_ you move quickly, you'd at least make it to Snowdin before those things tightened completely." He was smiling again. That fake, innocent smile. "You were so slow, though! I mean, golly, you must've been _really_ trying to annoy me, huh?"

Grandt didn't answer. He just grit his teeth and bore the cold against his skin. His leg ached, but he wouldn't dare to show it.

Another insufferable, grating giggle. "Silent treatment, eh? Hey, that's fine. You'd better save your vocal cords. You know," Flowey added as his smile became positively nightmarish, " _because you'll be screaming a lot_."

And then the vine around his leg tightened. It went from tight to uncomfortable to horribly constricting, but Grandt bit down on his lip. He closed his eyes tight in an effort to not look at the evil little flower.

Then there was a sharp crack.

And Grandt _screamed_.

His leg hurt so much and _it was wet oh my God it's wet why is it wet why is it_

His eyes snapped open. He could see Flowey nearby. He could see that Flowey was saying something, but he couldn't hear it.

All he could hear were his own screams.

Wet. His leg was wet. He was crying. He was crying and his leg was wet and _oh God why could he feel his bone sticking out oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God_

Then he felt something on his other leg. He was surprised he could feel anything right now. Anything but pain and wetness and cold.

Another crack. At first, he didn't think he'd heard it right over his screaming.

More pain. _More pain_.

 _Please God please make it stop please please_

He was going to die here. He was going to die and Frisk was gonna be left all alone and Dyse would never stop drinking and Kira would keep feeling sad and Relef would Relef would Relef would Relef would

His vision blurred. The snow looked red and black and bloody. The sky – _no not the sky it's the ceiling there's no sky here there's no sunrise I'm so sorry_ – looked darker than before. The trees looked sinister.

He couldn't see Flowey anymore.

He didn't care.

All he cared about was the pain in his legs.

All he cared about was that _he wanted it to stop please stop_

 _Frisk_

 _Frisk I'm so sorry_

 _I'm so sorry I'm a horrible grandfather I left you all alone_

 _hurts so much it all hurts so much Frisk_

 _please forgive me Frisk please I'm so sorry_

His fingers raked away at the snow. His nails dug deep into it, but he couldn't feel it anymore. Everything felt cold, now.

Something on his right arm. A crack. Pain. Screams.

Only one arm left. Only one limb.

 _Shord Fain I failed I failed I couldn't protect her_

 _Relef I failed I failed I couldn't save you_

 _Warren Warren Warren Warren Warren Warren Warren Warren Warren_

 _why_

 _why did I let you do that to yourself why didn't I protect you I'm sorry I'm so sorry_

 _please somebody please save me PLEASE I'm so cold_

 _hurts so much_

Everything was red. Everything was red and black and screaming and blood-soaked and ablaze and cold and dying. He reached out with his only remaining hand.

 _please help me please I'm so scared_

 _I don't wanna die_

 _please_

Something snaked its way up his back.

Around his neck.

 _please Sans Toriel Papyrus anybody please please please please please please please_

 _please_

 _help me_

 _I'm so scared_

 _please_

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

But nobody came.

 _Crack_.


	19. Chapter 3-1

**Chapter 3: Echoes**

 **Subchapter 3-1: Gold and Silver Flowers**

Grandt woke up.

He woke up like anyone would from a nightmare – suddenly, covered in sweat, and breathing quickly. His eyes were wide. His fingers dug into the rocky ground, scraping and cracking his nails.

And then, just as suddenly, he pushed himself up so that he was kneeling, with his palms pressed against stone. He coughed loudly; the bile and nausea in his throat would've made him throw up if there'd been anything in his stomach at the time. He coughed like that for a while. The pain and shock and fear and anger and hatred and sorrow made it impossible to do anything else.

Grandt stopped coughing almost as abruptly as he'd started. His eyes – thankfully adjusted to this darkness – scanned down his right arm. He lifted his right hand and held it in front of his face. It was shaking. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he closed his fingers against his palm. He reopened them and closed them again. Once, twice, three times… Grandt couldn't bring himself to do anything else. It was all too much of a shock.

It'd broken, hadn't it? Flowey had snapped his arm. He'd heard it. He'd _felt_ it.

But it was fine. It _moved_. It was sore, but it moved without too much resistance. Almost like it'd never been broken at all.

Then Grandt paused again, and all thoughts came to a sudden, complete halt. He placed his hand back on the ground.

Grandt stood up.

His legs were shaking. They were shaking and they hurt, but they moved on their own. In fact, they moved better than they had the day before – back before Flowey'd gone and screwed up his legs.

 _Flowey_.

Grandt shuddered. His spine actually went cold for a second, and his hand darted up to his neck as if driven by instinct alone. Legs shook, fists clenched, teeth grit. That name alone messed him up.

His eyes slammed shut. _Stop it,_ he thought. _It's over. You're okay. You're_ alive _._

"I'm alive…"

Those words felt strange in his mouth. They were light. Airy. As though a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. It was obvious why he felt that way; he was too happy to be alive right now for anything else.

No, not happy. "Happy" didn't describe it. "Happy" was when you made a new friend, or when you received a strong grade on an exam. "Happy" was when you spent time with those you loved.

Grandt felt… exuberant. Yes, that was the word. His smile practically cracked away at the rest of his face, and his heartbeat sped up, though not to absurd levels. It wasn't too fast, and it wasn't too slow. It just _was_.

Grandt pressed his back up against the nearest wall and let out a slow, quiet sigh of relief. He was okay. He was smiling and his legs were shaking and his arms were sore, and he was okay. His heart hadn't given out yet – he still had time.

He swallowed, and Grandt realized how _dry_ his throat felt. Was that because of… of the flower, or was it because he just hadn't had anything to drink in a while? No, it felt more like the second one. Like he just hadn't had anything to drink in quite some time. It wasn't as unbearable as when he'd woken up at Sans's and Papyrus's house; there were no daggers behind his eyes, no red in his vision. His throat was just sore, that was all. Wherever he was, he was sure that everything would be fine.

Come to think of it, though, where _was_ he? Grandt looked around the area a bit more closely than before. It was a small cavern, lit by a single stream of light in the middle. For whatever reason, that light went straight down to a small patch of golden flowers – the same kind of flowers that grew around Ebott, that Kira brought to that grave every week. Grandt had never learned what they were called. Kira'd probably told him once or twice, but it never stuck with him.

He shook his head. That wasn't important right now. He could think about flowers later, after he figured out where he was. After he figured out how he was still alive.

The walls were smooth, like they'd been sanded down over time. Maybe there'd been a river here, once? Or maybe it was manmade. Either option could be the case.

 _No, no!_ he thought a bit more viciously than he'd meant to. _Stop going off on these tangents! Focus!_

 _But I don't want to,_ he countered himself. _I don't want to focus._

 _But why not?_

Because focusing on the situation meant thinking about what had just happened. It meant that he had to remember the pain and wetness and cold and tears and darkness. It meant that he had to remember Flowey.

He already had dreams where his son and daughter-in-law were slaughtered before his eyes. He already had dreams about the man who'd brought the Idyllian Empire to its knees. He didn't need more nightmares.

So he didn't want to focus. He wanted to smile and nod and pretend that everything was fine. That he hadn't run ahead from stupidity alone. That he hadn't almost gotten himself killed for nothing at all.

 _Almost_.

It was a miracle that he was even alive. By all rights, he should've been lying in the middle of the forest, dead and rotting away. But he wasn't. More than that, he could use his arm and his legs, almost as though they'd never been broken at all.

That, in itself, was _more_ than miraculous. Limbs took weeks or even _months_ to recover. If his arm and legs had been broken so badly they'd started bleeding, there was no way they should have recovered by now. There was no reason he'd be alive long enough for them to heal. So how had they recovered like that? It made no sense.

" _There is no Healing Magic."_

That book was correct. Healing spells only fixed mental fatigue or damage to a person's SOUL. They couldn't heal cuts or bruises, much less something as major as a broken bone or three. It was the reason why Hartsvaldt was still filled with hospitals despite being one of the most magically-advanced cities in the world.

So his limbs hadn't been fixed through magic. It couldn't have been done via natural means, either, considering that he didn't have time to wait for them to heal. Even if by some miracle his heart had lasted long enough for his arm and legs to pull themselves back together, that meant he'd been unconscious for weeks. Months, even.

So why the hell was he lying in the middle of some random cave?

And that was the biggest question of all. That was the point that took this whole situation and shattered it like so much glass. If Grandt had been on the brink of death – arm broken, legs broken, neck nearly (or perhaps fully!) snapped in two –, then why would his rescuer have left him in such a place? _Was_ there a rescuer at all?

No. No, that was a stupid train of thought. Of course someone _had_ to have saved him. Otherwise, Fl… _that flower_ would have killed him for sure. That flower didn't seem like someone who would drag out someone's death that long. Simple and quick, but still slow enough so that the victim suffered; that seemed to be the flower's _modus operandi_. It only made sense that someone so vicious – so unashamedly _evil_ – would act that way to all his victims.

He was getting off track again. _Focus!_ Grandt thought to himself. He ran a hand over his beard. _That flower tried to kill me. Calm down._ Calm down _!_

He'd been shot a few times before. In his legs, in his arms, in his chest and back. Once, a bandit from Sommernacht had nearly lodged a bullet in his mouth. If he hadn't turned at just the right moment, he'd be dead now. It was part of why he grew his beard out so much; he didn't want anyone to see that scar. It was an ugly thing, so he hid it.

But that scar had been the worst of his injuries. It'd hurt like hell, but it wasn't anything huge. Compared to the people who lost their arms and legs and spines and _lives_ , he'd gotten off easy. Of course, that was partially because his squadron didn't fight half as much as most of the others – at least, they didn't until Warren came along. Even so, the fact that he'd made it out with only a few marks here and there was a miracle in and of itself.

And then his bones had been broken. No, they hadn't been _broken_. He'd broken his bones before. What that flower did to his arm and legs… it was more like he'd _shattered_ them, like he'd snapped them in two. And then when that vine went for his neck, he–

Grandt suddenly became very aware that his breathing had quickened. It'd quickened a _lot_. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat coated his forehead, and his fingers unconsciously scratched at his crossed and covered arms. Then he felt the nausea again, rising in the back of his throat. He felt like he was actually going to vomit this time, even if there was nothing inside of him but stomach acid and blood.

 _Too fast._

He hadn't realized it. He hadn't realized how much it'd screwed him up until just now. But it was like he'd just been there – as if five minutes ago, he'd been lying in the snow as that vine went up towards–

 _Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP! Stop thinking about it!_

Grandt's hand was on his neck again. Holding it. Protecting it. He slowly slid down the wall so that he now sat against the stony ground.

 _Forget the cave,_ he thought. _It doesn't matter. Forget the flower. Forget about it! It's over! It's over. It's okay. It's okay. You're alive. I'm alive. That's all that matters. You're alive and you can walk and everything's okay._

But his throat was dry. _His throat_. He needed something to wet it. Anything. Anything at all. Kallis could come and dump kerosene down his lungs if it would make his throat stop burning. He wouldn't fight it. Anything to get him to _stop thinking about it, you idiot!_

No. No, it was okay. He was okay. _Everything_ was okay. He was in a cave and his limbs were healed and he was okay.

His left hand darted out and began groping around on the dark floor. He didn't command it to; it just did. Its fingers twitched and crawled along everything in sight, desperate to find something to cool his throat. Anything. It didn't matter what it was.

They found something. Something cool and leathery. Grandt's hand closed around it and pulled it close.

It was a bag, from what he could tell. He didn't know if it had been left for him, or if someone had left it behind by accident. Grandt didn't care. At the moment, he just wanted to stop thinking about the vines around his limbs and neck and _dammit dammit dammit stop thinking about it!_

He tore the bag open like a hungry animal and rummaged around inside. Food items, crushed beyond recognition – a sandwich splattered with jelly and honey; a few granola bars that had broken their packaging and gotten everywhere and attracted ants; a decent chunk of wild rabbit like the kind Kira hunted outside the village, now squished against everything else and crawling with insects. He didn't mind the bugs. He just wanted water. Water or soda or coffee or _anything_.

Then he found it: a bottle of water, the kind that was easy to refill. He ripped off its cap and drank deeply, letting it flood his lungs and wash away the dust and dirt and _vines oh God stop thinking about it!_

 _Too fast. Calm down! Think about something else. Anything else. Anything at all!_

But he couldn't. Even as the water flowed down his throat and eased its pain, all he could think of was that damned bastard of a flower.

 _Crack._

 _Stop._

He set the bottle down and held his head in his hands. It was too much. It was all just too much. No matter how much he tried to forget it, he couldn't. He doubted he ever would. It was another nightmare to add to the rest – something else for his mind to wander to whenever he was tired and couldn't distract himself with anything else. It'd join the flames and treachery and hatred. It'd lodge itself into his brain and stay there forever.

Grandt had been happy when he'd woken up. Why couldn't he stay happy? Why couldn't he still be exuberant? Why had that joy gone away so quickly? He was alive! He was supposed to be happy that he was alive! But he wasn't, anymore.

His head was throbbing. It wasn't a painful sort of throbbing, though. It was the type where every emotion clashed and battled and bubbled up inside, like they all wanted to be felt at once. The joy of being alive, the terror of almost being killed, the hatred towards that damned flower, the sorrow of nearly leaving everyone behind… They all fought inside Grandt's skull.

He was crying again.

Grandt didn't care. Nobody was watching. Nobody would judge him for this. He just wiped his face on his jacket and curled himself into a ball.

He just–

He just couldn't bring himself to move. Not yet. Not until the throbbing went away. Not until he stopped hearing his bones snap every time he closed his eyes. Not until he could bring himself to call that flower by his name.

When he stopped thinking about everything, then he'd be able to stand back up. Then he could go back to doing whatever he'd done previously – running ahead without thinking and nearly getting himself killed. He could act all smart and wise when really he was just some stupid old man who'd climbed a mountain he had no right to climb.

He wiped his face again.

His first thought was, _This jacket must be getting filthy._

His second thought was the sudden and horrified realization that _he hadn't been wearing a jacket_ _earlier_.

Grandt immediately shot up. He stood up straighter than he had for a long time, and he tore the jacket off like it was diseased. It landed atop the bed of golden flowers. The light struck it from above, giving Grandt a view of it for the first time.

It was _his_ jacket. It was the jacket he'd been wearing when he fell – blue and heavy and designed to withstand wind and rain. Ebott got incredibly cold in the winter, and he doubted climbing a mountain would make it any easier, so he'd worn it up.

Then Toriel had to cut it off to get to his heart. Unlike his shirt, though, Toriel hadn't been able to sew it back together due to how thick the material was, so he'd been left without it during his trek through Snowdin.

But there it was.

It was just sitting there, lying in the middle of the flowers like it had never been torn at all. Like it hadn't been cut in two. Like it'd never been thrown away.

 _How…?_

No. No, no, _no_! There had to be a rational explanation for it! There had to. It didn't make any sense for it to just _be_ there. To just be on him.

 _Someone must've given it to me,_ Grandt thought a bit more hurriedly than he cared to admit. _The person who saved me from that flower. They must've found me and given me the jacket and–_

And what? And left him in a cave? That didn't make sense. That didn't make sense at all.

It was a brand-name jacket – a brand that didn't exist in the Underground, provided that he wasn't mistaken. There was no way that somebody would have that exact kind of jacket (in his size, no less!) sitting around. Not to mention that nobody had seen him wearing it except for Toriel and that flower.

The flower definitely wouldn't have saved him. And even if Toriel _had_ saved him, she wouldn't just leave him lying in the middle of a cave. She wasn't the kind of person who'd do something like that. He knew she wouldn't.

He hoped she wouldn't.

But it didn't make sense. _Nothing_ made sense. Where was he? Why was he there? Why was his jacket in perfect condition? Why'd he woken up wearing it? Whose bag was that? What the hell was going on?!

 _Too fast._

 _Too fast!_

 _Calm down calm down CALM DOWN!_

But he didn't calm down. He couldn't. His mind and heart were both racing in sync.

Then his chest exploded with pain.

 _Cal_

Darkness.

* * *

 **AN: Welcome to Chapter 3. It took a while, but we're here, now.**

 **More specifically, welcome to Subchapter 3-1. Just like how each chapter tells its own basic arc that fits into the overall narrative, subchapters tell smaller arcs that fit into each chapter. Most chapters will not have subchapters, but the ones that do will typically be longer than the ones that don't.**

 **I'm probably going to start leaving shorter author's notes from here on out. While I tend to enjoy writing these, it feels like it detracts from the update (hence why the last two chapters didn't have any notes at all). Major chapters won't really have any notes at all. So for this chapter… Well, I'll just let it speak for itself.  
**

 **As one last note: I've gone back and done some edits on the first few chapters in this story. I can't really promise I've ironed out all the kinks by any stretch of the imagination, but they're much better than they were the first time around. If you've got any interest at all, check 'em out.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read this story up to this point. Seriously, thank you guys so much. If it wasn't for all of you, I'd probably have given up halfway through Chapter 2 and left this story completely unfinished. In any case, I'll see you all next time, for when things will take a bit of a turn.**


	20. Chapter 3-2

" _Captain Journa," the young man said softly, "do you like stories?"_

 _Grandt smiled. "Sure I do," he said. "Though I guess it depends on the type."_

" _The type, sir?"_

" _Sure. Comedies, tragedies… You know what I mean, right?"_

" _I-I think so."_

 _The young man went quiet for a moment._

" _Um… Th-then in that case, do you wanna read this one, sir?" He held out a thick book wrapped in black leather. "It's my… It's my favorite."_

 _Grandt stared at him for a moment. "What about the others?"_

 _The young man winced. "F-Fain told me she doesn't read much, and Relef said he doesn't wanna… doesn't wanna touch something like this. Said it's too 'kiddy.'" He paused a moment. "I didn't wanna ask Shord. He scares me."_

 _That made Grandt snort. "Shord scares you? My_ son _scares you?"_

" _He looks tough…" the young man murmured, pulling himself in a bit. "Really tough."_

" _Fain's stronger than him," Grandt pointed out._

" _I know. But he_ looks _tougher."_

 _Grandt studied the young man. He was sixteen, as far as Grandt knew, but he acted so much younger than that. Years younger. It was like he'd never really had a chance to develop as a teenager._

 _Grandt winced inwardly. That was a stupid thought. He knew why the young man was so screwed up; it was so obvious that it hurt. But still, the kid had been assigned to Squadron Fourteen, and Grandt would be damned if he didn't try to get him out of his shell._

" _How about this," he said a bit more gently than he'd intended. "Why don't you go and ask Shord for yourself? Worst he can do is refuse."_

"… _I know. But still, it's just…" The young man shook his head. "It's hard. I-I don't think I can do it."_

" _You're gonna have to. He's your comrade now. When you're out on the battlefield, you'll have to talk to him."_

" _Maybe."_

"' _Maybe'?" Grandt smirked. "What, do you think you can fight on your own?"_

" _Fighting's easy," the young man replied. "Talking's the hard part."_

 _Those words came out easily. Too easily. It was almost mechanical._

 _Grandt suppressed a shudder. How screwed up_ was _this kid? How much help did he need? Could Grandt even begin to provide that kind of help?_

" _A-anyway," Grandt said, eager to change the subject, "why, uh… Why don't you tell me about that book?"_

 _The young man's expression lit up. "Really?" He sounded more excited than Grandt had ever heard him before._

" _Sure." Grandt didn't want the kid to lose that smile anytime soon. "I wanna know about that story of yours, Warren."_

* * *

Golden flowers.

That was the first thing Grandt saw when he woke up again. Golden flowers sitting in a transparent, water-filled vase.

His vision was blurry at first. That made sense, though; he'd only just woken up, and people tended to be groggy after waking up like that. After waking up from… from…

Grandt closed his eyes. It wasn't just his mind or his body that was exhausted. _Everything_ felt tired. His brain, his body, his eyes, his throat, his chest… It was a sort of tiredness he'd only ever felt after a particularly strenuous battle, like back when White Autumn had come dangerously close to taking that mining facility just outside of Hartsvaldt. But he felt it _now_.

He opened his eyes again and struggled to sit up. His body wouldn't comply, so Grandt just rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. There were no daggers behind his eyes to keep them open; he just kept them open because he didn't want to close them. He didn't want to fall asleep again.

He didn't want to dream again.

So he held his eyes open, even as his body begged him to shut them tight. His head rolled back to the side, and he focused his gaze on the vase of golden flowers. If it weren't for them, he'd be sure he was still lying in that cave. Lying in that cave and questioning how he was still alive.

His hands slowly ran along his arms. No jacket.

 _Of course not,_ he thought a bit blearily. _I left it there. On top of those flowers. I threw it off._

Or… Or _had_ he? Grandt wasn't sure how much of that had actually happened and how much of it was just some strange fever dream. It was hard to remember exact details; all he recalled was that he'd woken up in some cave, found out he was wearing a jacket that should've been long gone, and passed out again.

 _Crack_.

Grandt's whole body shuddered involuntarily. His fingers slowly moved up to his neck.

No matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, he couldn't deny what had happened out in Snowdin Forest. He knew for a fact that it had occurred, but everything after it? Waking up in that cave, finding his jacket, losing consciousness? He didn't know if that was real or something his panicked mind had made up.

He hoped it hadn't been real. It made too little sense to be real. It was like some bizarre fever dream – one where he was lucid enough to understand it, even though it was absolutely impossible.

It was false. It _had_ to be false. It had to be something he'd made up when he'd passed out under that flower's vines. Some way to justify his own unconsciousness. He'd never woken up in that cave, never worn that jacket, never had a heart attack. It hadn't happened.

So why did his chest ache so much?

Grandt winced and touched it just as gingerly as he'd touched his neck. No, he touched it _more_ gingerly – because unlike his neck, his heart would never be fixed. It could be patched up a bit, but it'd just keep getting worse and worse until it broke down and stopped forever. Touching it the wrong way would kill him.

And it ached. It ached like it had ten years ago, back when everything went to hell for the second time. It ached like it had been lit on fire and that everything inside had been scorched. It ached like a bullet wound that still throbbed even days after he'd been shot. That was his heart; dull and empty and throbbing and pained.

He knew this feeling. He'd felt it many times before, whenever his heart decided he'd put too much of a strain on it. Of course, "too much of a strain" could mean anything from fighting off a dozen bandits at once to running too fast down a set of stairs. There wasn't much consistency to it, and that was what terrified Grandt most of all.

That was why he always tried to slow it down. That was why he tried to slow it down whenever it sped up, even if its pace didn't increase too much. If it went too fast, he could die. Of course, there was always a chance that he could have a heart attack even if he was just standing around or cooking or tucking Frisk into bed. Hell, there'd been a very real chance of his heart taking his life at the ripe old age of thirty; it'd happened to people in his family before, after all. It wouldn't be a shock.

It'd be awful, but it wouldn't be a shock.

It could happen. Grandt _knew_ it could happen. He'd always known.

And he knew this ache, too. He hadn't had enough heart attacks in his life to really call himself an expert on the matter, but he'd probably had more than the average person. It was a miracle that he'd survived all of them. It was a miracle he'd made it to sixty-one at all.

Just like how it was a miracle that he was lying in a bed now, neck uninjured, and _alive_. That was the greatest miracle of all. He was alive, and – presumably, at least, because while he still wanted to believe that the incident in the cave was just a dream, there was a part of him that loudly claimed otherwise – he could still walk.

How many people in that situation wouldn't have been able to walk out of it? How many people, when they had their arm and legs snapped in half, could come out of it not just alive, but without any serious wounds? It was impossible. It _should've_ been impossible, but it wasn't. Apparently, he was just lucky.

Well, he supposed he'd been owed at least _some_ luck in his life. He hated to act so entitled, but really, Grandt couldn't deny that his life had been stupidly unfair. Sure, there were people who were worse off, but what did that matter? That didn't mean his life had been sugar and rainbows. That didn't mean the last ten years hadn't nearly broken him as a human being. If it hadn't been for Frisk, he'd probably have given up years ago.

But there he was. Lying in some bed in some building, flowers sitting not two feet away. He was tired and exhausted and felt like his entire body was made of lead. His chest still ached, and he wondered when his heart had decided to screw him over – whether it was in that cave, or if it'd given out after that flower saw fit to rip him in half.

Either way, it wasn't a good sign; he'd already had a heart attack… what? How many days ago was it? He had to have been unconscious for a long time if he could move his arms and legs around. Had his heart given out while he was unconscious? Was that why the dream in the cave had gone south so quickly?

Yes. Yes, that explained it. That explained everything. He'd been there all along, lying in bed and recovering from his wounds. His heart had almost given out when the person who'd brought him there came back and saved his life. It was the only possible explanation. It was the only explanation that was logical and… and reasonable.

There'd been no jacket. No flowers. There hadn't been any bag or water or food or light. He'd just… He'd just dreamed it all up.

Grandt relaxed and smiled to himself. Finally, there was his explanation! There was the reason why he'd gotten there. It was because he'd _always_ been there. There'd been no cave. There'd been no jacket.

All of that was just… It was just ridiculous. It was impossible.

He sat upright suddenly as a spike of pain ran through his chest. "Dammit…" he hissed as he grabbed at the fabric of his… of his pajamas? "Why does it hurt so much?"

This wasn't normal. It _couldn't_ be normal. This was a different kind of pain than before, when he'd woken up in Toriel's home after falling down into the Underground. It was sharp, pointed. Like a jagged bolt of lightning that'd ripped its way through his chest and exited out his back.

He pressed his free hand against his forehead. "It isn't right…" he gasped. "It's not… It's not right!" His arm flailed out to the side and knocked the vase off its perch. It tumbled to the floor and shattered on impact.

Grandt just stared at it for a moment – at the flowers and water and glass that were now staining the wooden floor. He pressed his hand back against his forehead and let out a low groan of frustration. The pain in his chest slowly eased back down to a dull throb.

It was too much. Just like back then, it was all just too much.

Wandering through an unknown area? That was fine. He could accept it. He'd done it before, and by himself, no less! So there wasn't anything in the Underground that could truly shake him. That's what he'd thought.

He'd thought he could just wander through without any problems. It'd take a few days – maybe a week, if he was unlucky –, but he knew he'd make it back to Ebott in time to say goodbye to everyone. He _thought_ he'd make it back. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

"It won't happen…" he mumbled, looking down and avoiding the broken vase. "It _can't_."

He was such an idiot. Such an old, stupid, _stupid_ idiot. And yet there he was, sitting in bed and whining instead of getting up and trying to fix things on his own. He really _was_ a moron, wasn't he?

But then again, that was what he had Sans for, right? Sans and Toriel and Papyrus (well, not so much with Papyrus). They'd be able to keep him straight. They'd be able to tell him which way was up and down and left and right. They'd be able to help him get back home.

His hand relaxed against his chest. _If I get home,_ he thought. _What'll I do? What'll I say? "I'm sorry, Frisk, but you have to watch me die, now"? Maybe I should've just died on that mountain. Maybe Flowey should've killed me, after all._

His other hand moved to the covers. It gripped harshly against them – so harshly that its knuckles turned blue. Grandt grit his teeth and looked down.

What did it matter if he was dreaming or not? What did it matter if he was asleep or dreaming or being crushed by that bastard of a flower even now? Maybe this was all some bizarre hallucination. Maybe he was still lying in the middle of that snowy forest with his neck crushed into oblivion. Maybe he'd make it to the end of his journey and discover that it'd all been useless.

 _No. No! Why the hell am I thinking like this?! Why can't I accept that something good happened to me for once?! Why do I have to be so damned gloomy all the time?!_ He could've bellowed the words, but they were stuck in his head. _I should be happy! I'm alive, aren't I?! Alive well past the day I should be dead! This is a miracle. What kind of person ignores miracles? Morons!_

His back lost its stiffness. "But…" he said softly. "I _am_ a moron, aren't I?"

No, he was. He _had_ to be. Morons ran ahead when people weren't really in danger. Morons put themselves in positions they should've never been in in the first place. Morons climbed mountains when their bodies weren't ready for it.

 _But won't I be even more of a moron if I deny this?_ he thought. _If I just sit here and… and stew in my own misery? If I pretend that nothing's real and that I can just sit here and die?_

Grandt pulled his right hand away from the covers. He looked at it for a moment – the way it shook beneath his gaze, the way it moved even after having been broken in half. No, this wasn't a dream; it wasn't some sort of illusion he'd created. It was _real_. He could tell it was real.

He hadn't died. He'd just… slept for a while.

Yes.

Yes, that was right.

It… It had to be right.

Then the doorknob turned audibly, causing Grandt to tense up and look over at it. It creaked open slowly – very slowly –, and the room was flooded with light. Well, it was mostly flooded with light, were it not for the large, Boss-Monster-shaped silhouette in the middle of the doorway.

"Ah, you woke up!" it – wait, was that Toriel? – said. "And it seems that you have made a full recovery, as well. I am glad to know that you are alright."

Grandt relaxed a bit. It _was_ Toriel, just as he'd thought. Even so, something about this situation seemed strange. Familiar.

She stepped into the room and flicked on the light switch. "I am sorry if I have startled you," she continued as she walked over. "I am just so happy to see that you are–"

And then she seemed to notice the pile of glass and flowers and water on the wooden floor. She simply stared at it for a moment, and then she turned her eyes up towards Grandt blankly.

"… well."

* * *

 **AN: This chapter.**

 **This chapter was _not_ easy to write. In fact, it might've been the hardest chapter in the whole story so far. When it comes down to it, this chapter is meant to be something of a transition between the last one and the next, while introducing multiple concepts that'll get played with shortly down the road. Unfortunately, it's also really hard to do that when you're mostly writing about a character being stuck in bed for 2,500 words. I tried to ease that a bit by focusing more on Grandt's crumbling mental state - especially with things like his random tangents and his existential crisis -, but I'm not sure how well it worked out. If nothing else, I can promise that what it's building up to will be much better.**

 **In any case, thanks to everyone who's favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read this story up to this point!**


	21. Chapter 3-3

"I'm, ah… I'm sorry about the vase," Grandt murmured.

He sunk a bit into the wooden chair in Toriel's living room. The whole place was just as he remembered it – low ceilings, nice furniture, and warm from the fireplace. (Although was it just him, or did it feel a bit warmer than he remembered?) Too bad he was currently trying not to meet Toriel's gaze, even as she smiled back warmly.

"I told you," she said, waving him off. "It is absolutely fine, my friend. You did not do it on purpose, right?"

Grandt thought back to what must have been five, ten minutes earlier. He hadn't broken it on purpose… had he? No, of course not. It'd been an accident. Sure, he'd thrown his arm out to the side on purpose, and he'd meant to hit _something_ , but he didn't _plan_ to knock the vase over.

"… nnnnooooo," Grandt drawled.

Toriel stared at him for a moment. "Well," she deadpanned, "I suppose that not _everybody_ can have restraint."

"In my defense, it _was_ an accident," Grandt said, still looking away. "Really, I didn't mean to break it." Then he looked down and gave a rueful smile. "Though I guess by my age, intention doesn't really mean all that much."

"I am not worried about that," Toriel said. She frowned. "I am worried about _you_ , my friend, not some silly vase. You are still not fully recovered, and… Well, I simply do not want you to strain yourself again."

Grandt nodded slowly and touched a hand to his chest. He winced as soon as it made contact. It was then that he realized that it wasn't just his heart that ached. His skin, his muscles, and even his ribs throbbed with heat on contact. How hadn't he felt it earlier? Had he just been that tired, or…?

He looked up at Toriel and finally met her eyes. "What happened to me?"

Now it was _her_ turn to wince, to look guilty. Toriel glanced away.

"I…" she started before trailing off. "I am sorry."

"It's fine," Grandt reassured her. "Believe me, it's fine. I'm still alive."

"I know, but–"

Grandt pushed himself forward so that his arms rested on the table. "Please," he said seriously, "just tell me what you did. I won't be angry."

She shook her head. "You say that now…"

"Of course I'm saying it. You saved my life. No matter what you did, the fact is that I'm still alive. That's all that matters."

His chest was burning, now – burning like the scar under his beard had all those years ago. Even the way the fabric of his snail-pattern pajamas rubbed up against it caused him pain. He was half-tempted to just rip the damned top off to get it to cool down a bit.

"Alright," Toriel said very slowly, bringing him back to the real world. "I will tell you, then."

Grandt slumped back in his seat and immediately regretted it. The pajama top continued to rub at his injury. And was it just him, or was the fabric starting to stick to it? That wasn't–

Then he paled. "Oh, _God_ …"

Toriel shifted about uncomfortably. "I-I am so sorry," she whispered. "But when I found you in the cave, you had clearly been unconscious for a long time." She paused. "You were not breathing, so I… I panicked. And then I ripped away your shirt – ah, that is why you are wearing those clothes, in case you were curious – and tried to restart your heart."

Grandt's hand hovered mere inches away from his chest. He couldn't bring himself to touch it. It hurt too much.

Once again, Toriel refused to meet his eyes. Though to be fair, he was also trying to avoid _hers_ , if only so that he wouldn't have to see how guilty she felt.

"I used lightning magic."

"You restarted my heart again," Grandt said.

Toriel paused for a moment, a look of confusion crossing her face, before she shook her head. "Yes." Her voice was softer than he'd ever heard it before. "But I overdid it."

There was a long pause. Grandt struggled to say something, but it was hard – harder than he would've thought, at any rate.

Finally, he managed to loosen his jaws. "How much?"

Toriel looked up. "How much what?"

"How much is burnt?"

And Toriel winced and looked back down again. "I am so sorry."

It hurt. It all hurt so much. What had before been just a dull throb of heat had become infernal. It was like his whole chest had become a slab of charred meat. Like a steak someone had left on for too _oh God oh God please stop._

He didn't care anymore. He didn't care if Toriel was watching. Grandt grabbed the shirt and threw it over his head. It hurt too much to leave it on.

And then he saw his chest, and a gurgled gasp was the only sound that escaped his lungs.

It wasn't just burnt; it was _charred_. His flesh had been scorched so badly that it had gone from whitish to black. Everything around his heart smelled like a house fire.

"You… You burned it." His voice had gone quiet. Empty. "You burned it all."

And then he laughed. It was a hollow laugh. The kind of laugh only let out when nothing really mattered anymore.

"You burned it, Toriel," Grandt repeated. "I can feel it. _You burned my heart_."

He'd woken up in the cave. He'd woken up in the cave and his heart was ablaze and _it hurts so much it all hurts so much I can't_

"Please–" she started.

But she stopped. She stared at him, then, and a look of complete and utter shock crossed her eyes. She stared at Grandt as he laughed emptily.

"How…" she whispered. "How do you know my name?"

The laughter immediately stopped.

Grandt looked over at her, wide-eyed. "What do you _mean_ , 'How do you know my name'?" His voice came out as a hiss.

 _stop_

He stood up and stumbled a bit. "Of _course_ I know your name! You… You're Toriel, and I'm Grandt, and we're all _so damn close_!" He was laughing again. "All such great pals, y'know?! Fucking _soulmates_!"

 _stop it_

But it all hurt so much and he _couldn't_ stop no matter how much he wanted to. His body and words were acting on their own.

Toriel shrunk back into her seat. "Please," she begged him. "I-I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Of course you do. You burned my heart, after all! Right after that damn flower went and ripped me in half! After Kallis went and _MURDERED EVERYBODY_!" His laughter was louder, now. "Of course you know who I am! You _have_ to! It's all… It's just all so… so…"

The laughter changed, then. It changed into sobbing. Quiet, empty, _broken_ sobbing.

And he cried. He cried for a long while. Then he heard the sound of Toriel's chair being pulled out. He heard her stand up and walk over to him. He felt her wrap her arms around him and pull him into a hug.

"I'm sorry…" Grandt whispered between the tears and pain and anger. "I'm so sorry…"

"It is okay," Toriel said just as quietly. "It will all be okay."

"No it won't. It won't be okay. It _can't_ be."

"It _will_ be. I promise."

He choked back a sob. "It just… It just hurts so much."

"I know."

Grandt shook his head. "No, you don't. You don't know."

But Toriel pulled him in closer. "You are right," she admitted, "but I am sure it will get better. I am _sure_ of it."

Grandt was quiet for a moment. Then, "I'm so sorry. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

"Do not apologize. Please." Toriel went quiet. "I am the one at fault. Not you."

"But I was so cruel… I just… I was just so _angry_ …"

"And you were right to be angry," she said. " You _are_ right. I cannot imagine it. I cannot imagine your pain."

Grandt shook his head. It wasn't as bad as having his arm and legs ripped in half, but then, what was? It was just a constant source of pain for him, flickering in his chest. He could still smell the smoky, charred mess that was his skin. He could still feel the burns in his muscles and ribs. And his heart, of course, was still burnt.

"I'm so sorry," he wheezed. His tear ducts had gone dry. "I'm so sorry, Toriel."

There was another pause, longer this time. Then Toriel said, "It is okay. It is okay. But please," she added slowly, gingerly, "tell me… Tell me how you know my name."

Grandt froze in her arms. His whole body went numb for a moment. He'd thought he'd heard her wrong before – that some part of his temporary madness had made him mishear her words –, but this time he'd heard them perfectly.

"No…"

Toriel blinked. "What?"

"No!"

Grandt shoved himself out of the embrace. He pulled back until he was halfway through the arch between the living room and the entrance. His charred flesh was once again perfectly visible.

Toriel took a step forward, her eyes filled with concern. "My friend, _please_ , don't–"

"I'm not… No…" Grandt took another step back. "You… You should remember me! Why can't you remember–?!"

Pain shot through his chest, and Grandt let out a choked gasp as he fell to his knees. His hand flew to the spot of blackened flesh over his heart. His breath was becoming more labored than before.

Toriel cried out and ran over to his side. "Please," she begged him. "Please, just cooperate with me! I can… I-I will get you to bed, and–!"

"Get _away_ from me!" Grandt screamed, forcing himself back to his feet and stepping back again. "This isn't… This doesn't make sense! It isn't _right_!"

Then he turned around.

And he ran.

He heard her cry after him. He heard her footsteps as she pursued him down the stairs, down the passageway, and through the darkness. He heard _something_ break through the walls around him. He heard her shout in anger behind him – a shout that soon became quieter as he went on.

But more than any of that, he felt. The heat in his chest had become volcanic, and every breath sent pain through his whole body. His heart throbbed and burned and begged to be allowed to stop.

Grandt almost gave it its wish.

But he continued along, forcing the air into his lungs all the while. He continued along, only vaguely noticing as black turned to white and as warm turned to cold. Too bad the frigid weather did nothing to cool off his burns.

Grandt stumbled forward past trees and over ice and snow. He only stopped when he reached a familiar-looking gate, at which point he leaned against it so that he could rest.

His breaths were still labored and pained and hot. Everything burned, now, instead of just his chest. It was a miracle he hadn't had a heart attack on the way down, but he'd made it.

Then Grandt paused, and clarity returned to his mind.

"Why… Why did I run?" he wheezed. "Why did I run away?"

What had been the point of it? To get away from Toriel? Why did he need to get away from her? She hadn't been threatening. She hadn't _tried_ to hurt him.

It just… happened.

But she'd forgotten about him. She'd _completely_ forgotten about him. Why? And how?

It hadn't been a joke. Toriel loved jokes, but that wasn't a joke. That fear in her eyes, that confusion – they were real. She'd somehow completely forgotten about him.

Grandt pressed his back against the gate. He was bare-chested, but he hardly noticed the cold. The heat was so great that it seemed to spread down his whole body. Even if he hadn't been so badly burnt, he probably wouldn't have noticed. His mind was working too quickly to think about trivial things like hypothermia and frostbite.

He pressed a hand against his forehead. "I'm such a moron…" he said to himself. "I'm such a _moron_!"

Then he brought his head forward and slammed it back against the gate again and again. "Stupid!" he hissed with every impact. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ old jackass! Why doesn't it make sense?" Another crash, harder this time. "Why doesn't any of this shit make any sense?!"

He'd woken up in the cave. He'd woken up in the cave wearing that jacket, and he'd had a heart attack, and Toriel found him and brought him back to her house. But it made no sense! Why was he in that cave in the first place? Why did he have that jacket? Why had Toriel forgotten him?!

"It makes no sense…" Another crash. "No sense _at all_!" Crash, crash, crash. "Nothing makes… Nothing makes…"

He slid down the gate a bit. His head was terribly sore, but he didn't care enough. Any logic – any sense, any _reality_ – had been completely and utterly decimated. What could he trust? _Who_ could he trust? Everything had gone insane in the span of what had felt like a few minutes.

 _Crack_.

Grandt grabbed at his arms and stared down at the snow. His eyes were wide. His teeth were grit so hard they were likely to break. "It isn't right… It isn't _right_ …"

And beneath it all – beneath the pain in his chest, the insanity, and the sheer _impossibility_ of his situation –, Grandt could still hear what he'd said to Toriel ringing in his ears.

 _She didn't mean it. She didn't mean to hurt me. Why did I why did I why did I–_

 _Why was I so cruel?_

His nails dug into his arms. Suddenly, without warning, Grandt turned around and began slamming his head into the gate even harder than before. "Stupid!" he screamed this time in spite of his screaming chest. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_!"

His vision was growing dim. There was something wet on his forehead, and Grandt didn't care.

And then he stopped. He stood there, fingers trembling against the gate, blood dripping down his face.

"What's the point…?" he whispered. "What's the point? It doesn't make sense. _Nothing_ makes sense. What's the point in trying? What's the point in _anything_?

"I'll never get back, anyway."

With those words, the last bits of hope in Grandt's heart died. Those last thoughts that he could return to Ebott, that he could see Frisk again, that he could speak with Dyse and Kira and Ledger and everyone all went away. Because he was weak. Because he was dying. Because there was nothing he could do.

He was just an old fool. A stupid old man who'd gotten in way over his head. He couldn't traverse the Underground on his own. He couldn't do _anything_ on his own. He couldn't even save the people who mattered most to him.

He was just useless. He nothing. He was _empty_.

" _You're a good man, Major,"_ someone had once told him. _"You're_ too _good. One of these days, something's gonna happen to you, and all of that idealism's gonna go away forever."_

And he'd been right. He'd been very right. There was nothing left for Grandt. There was nothing left to hold dear. Nothing left for him to do. Nothing left that he _could_ do. And there was nothing left _in_ him, either. Nothing but a burnt out heart and hopelessness and defeat.

So Grandt did the only thing he could: he laughed. He laughed until tears rolled down his face, until the heat came back and he broke down into a coughing fit, until he heard footsteps behind him.

Until he turned around.

Until he found himself staring into the empty eyes of a grinning skeleton.

Until something sharp pierced his throat.

Until he fell to the ground and choked and gurgled.

Until he realized he couldn't breathe.

Until he panicked.

Until he struggled.

Until he drowned.

Until he died.

* * *

Grandt woke up.

He woke up in a dark cave with a patch of golden flowers in the center.

This time, he _did_ vomit.

And then he did nothing. He didn't move or think. He didn't question his situation. He didn't wonder why he was wearing his jacket again or why his heart wasn't burnt anymore. He didn't do anything at all.

Because there wasn't any part of him that wanted to. The part that questioned these things – the part that _cared_ – had just been consumed by Sans's black eyes. There wasn't anything left for him, now.

Sure, he could return home, and then what? He would die, soon. And he would awaken here in this cave. Just like last time. Just like now.

But Grandt wasn't thinking about that. Sure, there was some part of his brain that _knew_ he'd somehow reset his journey back to square one, but the rest of his brain didn't care. It was sluggish. Empty and devoid of any substance, just like his laughter. There was just… no _point_ to thinking anymore.

So he just lay there. He lay next to his vomit and he lay next to the golden flowers without thinking. He didn't notice when Toriel eventually came by. He didn't notice when she spoke to him, or when she picked him up and carried him. He didn't notice the Ruins as they passed through. He didn't notice as Toriel brought him to her home and lay him down in bed and tucked him in and prayed.

He didn't notice as he stared at the ceiling for weeks on end.

He didn't notice as his heart started to ache again.

It wasn't until his heart finally decided to give out that he woke up to the world around him. He choked and gasped as the pain hit again, as darkness clouded his vision. Because no matter how many times he'd died, it hadn't gotten any easier. Then he heard the door open, and he looked out. And there was Toriel, standing in the doorway again with tears in her eyes.

And as Grandt died again, he reached out to her with the only arm that moved – his left arm.

In those last few moments of clarity, the only things Grandt could think about were her and Frisk.

* * *

Grandt woke up.

He woke up in a dark cave with a patch of golden flowers in the center.

He pushed himself up from the ground and leaned back against the wall. His throat was dry and his limbs were sore. But his neck, arm, and legs weren't broken, and his chest wasn't burnt. And he was wearing his jacket.

Grandt looked up at the hole in the ceiling through which light streamed down. A grim smile formed on his lips, and he chuckled bitterly.

"So," he said to nobody in particular, "I died, huh?"

It was strange how easily the words came out. Maybe it was because of how absurd they sounded. But for all that absurdity, they were completely and utterly true.

He continued to stare at the ceiling. "If only it'd been a bit earlier. If only I woke up before I fell down here, none of this would've happened."

He would've saved Toriel a lot of heartache, at any rate. Multiple Toriels.

And he could've gone back to Frisk, if only he'd awoken back aboveground. Maybe in the cave where he fell down for the first time, when he saw that person outside holding a gun. He would've gone back to Ebott and spoken with Frisk and everyone else. He would've told her how proud he was of her. He would've spoken with the people around the village and thanked them for everything. He would've finally written that letter to Relef he kept putting off for the last ten years. He would've visited Warren one last time.

Now he couldn't do any of that. He couldn't do any of that because–

Because _why_ , exactly?

 _Because I won't get out of here,_ he thought. _Because I'll be trapped down here forever._

 _Why?_ another part of his mind countered. _It won't be too hard to get out. It'll be easy._

 _How?_

 _Because you can keep trying. Because you can restart from zero with ease. Because if you screw up, you can keep going again and again until you get it_ right _._

Grandt paused. His smile shifted, going from rueful to sly. Pressing his head back against the wall, he chuckled. This time, though, it was a chuckle without emptiness – a chuckle with genuine mirth behind it.

He _could_ do it, couldn't he? He could finish this. He could reach the end of the Underground because no matter what happened, he wouldn't really die. Or at least, he hadn't really died so far. Sure, he didn't plan to blindly put himself in positions that looked dangerous (and he winced and touched his neck), but he could at least try more things without having to worry. As long as he was patient, nothing was impossible.

He just had to stay connected to the world around him. He just had to keep going, no matter what. And the things that he could accomplish, this time around, too! The mere _thought_ of it got him excited.

Anything. Anything at all to justify himself. That was all he really needed. He needed some way to pretend that he wasn't really useless, that his life had meaning. Some way to keep himself from sitting still and doing nothing until he died again and again. Helping people? _Saving_ people? Maybe giving someone else's life _meaning_? That would do perfectly.

And then his smile faltered as he remembered the last two "iterations" of his journey.

Before he did anything else, he needed to apologize to Toriel. He owed her at least that much. Even if it wasn't "this" timeline's (was that the correct term for it? Timeline?) Toriel he owed an apology, it hardly mattered. She'd probably still do the same things no matter what happened. She'd probably still try to save his life even if it required her to burn his heart or to watch him decay in bed. She'd probably still be willing to comfort him even if he screamed at her about things she didn't and wouldn't understand. She was too kind for her own good, like that.

And Papyrus – well, Grandt still owed him a cooking lesson. This time, he'd be sure to deliver. Papyrus was so friendly, and Grandt wanted to get to know him better.

And Sans–

Grandt stopped there and shuddered. _Black eyes. Empty eyes. Drowning._

No, no! Sans was his friend! Or at least… he _had_ been Grandt's friend, once. Not that he'd remember it. Not that he'd _ever_ remember it.

He could work on that, though. Grandt could try to become Sans's friend again later. Anything to get those eyes out of his head. That feeling of drowning. That sound of meat being cut…

 _Crack._

And Grandt shook his head again. _Stop it,_ he thought. _It's over. Flowey won't even remember it, anyway._ That helped him to relax, if only a little bit.

At least he could focus. At least he could stand up and make himself keep walking. For Frisk. For Dyse and Kira. For Shord and Fain. For Relef. For Warren. He would walk as much as he needed to – alone, if need be –, until he made it out. Then he could do all things he'd meant to do in the first place.

Was this situation insane? Was it maddening? Yes and yes. Of course it was. But Grandt wasn't about to have another iteration he spent his time doing and thinking nothing. He wasn't going to lie in bed until Toriel walked in on his corpse, again. He couldn't do it. He _wouldn't_.

Even if he was willing put her through that again, what else was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could just sit around, anyway. He'd just wind up back here time and time again. There'd eventually come a time where he'd _have_ to move on; where he wouldn't have a choice anymore.

 _Now or never,_ he thought a bit grimly. _Never or now._

Moving forward, walking even in the face of adversity… That was all he could do. Even if the idea of traveling through time like this terrified him, he had no choice but to keep going.

But if he went into the next room, then that flower would be waiting for him. Grandt would have to confront the cause of his first death head-on, and he wasn't sure if he was totally ready for that just yet. The flower may have forgotten, but _Grandt_ sure as hell hadn't. If he had to see him again, if he had to hear one more "howdy"… Well, Grandt didn't know what he'd do.

So he stood up. He reached into the bag by his feet and pulled out the water bottle and drank it down as he had twice before. He brushed the insects and dirt off his arms, then, and set the bottle down on the rocky floor. Then he walked out into the middle of the flower patch, sat down cross-legged, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

"Oh!" Toriel gasped as soon as she walked into the cave. "I-I am sorry, I did not… It is just that humans do not usually fall down here."

Grandt just stared at her for a moment, and then he forced himself to look shocked and dazed. "Ah… I-I fell…?"

"Yes," Toriel said, her face shifting into something much warmer. "You did. I-I am sorry."

"Hey, don't apologize," he said, smiling a bit. "It's hardly your fault. I… I should've watched where I was going, that's all. And besides," added as he slowly stood up, "at least I didn't hurt myself too badly on the way down. It could've gone _much_ worse."

 _Crack._

He bit down on the inside of his lip. _Keep calm. Don't make her suspicious. Just smile and be friendly. She won't hurt you._

 _She might. She won't mean to, but she might._

Grandt swallowed and forced himself to keep smiling.

Toriel smiled back. "Yes, I suppose so…" There was a pause as she seemed to think over what she wanted to say next. "In any case, would you mind coming with me? I understand if you do not trust me for being a monster, but I–"

"Sure."

She blinked. "What?"

 _I said I'd apologize to her. I'm not gonna let something that hasn't happened – that_ won't _happen this time around – get in the way of that. Especially not when she only did it because she wanted to save my life. She's still Toriel. That's not something that's going to change anytime soon._

Grandt's smile was no longer forced. In fact, it had become so genuine that it took all his effort not to grin like a loon. "Sure, I'll come along," he repeated. "There's nowhere else for me to go, anyway. Besides, you seem friendly enough."

"Well… Alright, then." Toriel shifted a bit before her smile returned in full. "In that case, please do come with me. Ah, before I forget!" she added. "I do not believe I have introduced myself just yet. My name is Toriel, and I am the caretaker of the Ruins."

Grandt stepped up to her and extended a hand. It was incredibly hard to keep it from shaking. "It's good to meet you, Toriel," he said. "My name's Major Grandt Journa."

Toriel accepted his hand. "Very well. It is a pleasure to meet you, Major."

"Please, just call me Grandt." And after a moment of thought, he added, "All my friends do."

* * *

 _I'm sorry._

 _I'm sorry, but this had to be done._

 _I know you must hate me for this. Even if you can't hear me – even if you don't even know I exist –, you probably hate me for all of this._

 _But that's okay. You don't need to like me. Nobody does._

 _Nothing else matters, as long as I can promise everybody a happy ending._

* * *

 **AN: And here we are, ladies and gentlemen: the point where Grandt's journey truly begins. This chapter was initially meant to be three separate pieces - the first being the beginning of the chapter to Grandt's death at Sans's hands; the second being the part where Grandt lies around and does nothing until he dies; and the third being everything else.**

 **I changed it because of two reasons. First and foremost, each chapter was too short. I planned to upload all three chapters within a few days of each other, but I changed my mind since that lead directly into the second problem. The second problem being that it'd take until Chapter 3-5 for Grandt to figure out what's going on, artificially lengthening the story and making it much less interesting. Not to mention that I felt merging the chapters like this was the best way to go about it, even if his third reset is incredibly short.**

 **As for all the obvious questions like, "Why can Grandt reset?", "Who's speaking at the end of the chapter?", and, "When will ZaleAcon become a good writer?", those will all be answered later on. Well, two of them will. The third one probably won't.**

 **Jokes aside, thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read the story up to this point! I assure you all that if _Eldertale_ 's been in a slump for the past couple chapters, that's about to change very, _very_ soon.**


	22. Chapter 3-4

The Ruins were… Well, Grandt couldn't quite describe them with just a sentence. Hell, he didn't think he could even describe them with a _paragraph_. Nothing could really bring into focus how ancient they looked, like something straight out of antiquity. It was like gazing up at Stonehenge, only you knew why they'd been built and what they were for.

The large, perfectly cut purple bricks – now cracked and weathered by time – sat proudly against one another and reached up towards the ceiling. So tall were they that even the walls of Hartsvaldt, renowned for being the most defensively-perfect structure on the _continent_ , looked small. Of course, that may have been just because he was standing next to them, reaching out and touching the cool bricks with a hand that trembled from awe alone.

And those were just the walls! They only formed the outside of the vast structure. Grandt couldn't even imagine how they must have looked inside, mostly because despite how long he'd spent inside the Ruins, he'd only ever seen Toriel's home. Even the path to Snowdin was so dark that he hadn't been able to see it for himself, though a small part of him wondered if those same purple bricks made up its foundations, too.

So Grandt stood there simply staring, mouth half-open. He stared at the bricks, at the ivy and leaves that climbed down the walls, at the windows and stairs, and at the large and imposing doorway that beckoned him onward.

He jumped a bit when Toriel nudged his side. "Is it truly so impressive?" she asked.

"It's amazing," Grandt replied breathlessly. "Honestly, I… I've never really seen anything like it."

Toriel grinned. "Then you should be happy to know that this –" she gestured to the high walls "– is almost certainly the Ruins' _least_ impressive aspect."

Grandt turned his head to look at her. His eyes were wide. "You're not serious."

Her grin only grew. "Come on," she said. "You can judge it for yourself."

It was strange, having Toriel treat him like this – like he wasn't a time bomb about to keel over and die at any moment. Probably because he'd made it ten minutes without having a heart attack, this time. Probably because Toriel knew from the start that he was a soldier. Probably because Toriel didn't know how close he was to dying.

Or that he'd already died before.

He shook his head and began walking up the stairs. That wasn't important, now. This was a different timeline, a different history than what had happened before. As long as he could prove himself strong enough to leave the Ruins, he could keep going as he had the first time. Hell, maybe he'd be able to convince Toriel to let him leave without having to run off.

Grandt just had to make it through without having his heart give out on him. He just had to show himself able to get through without any major problems. He just had to keep calm.

 _What's that saying?_ he thought to himself as a small smile formed. _"Keep calm and carry on"? Yes, that's right._

His heart wasn't racing. He was about to enter the Ruins not as some unconscious piece of meat, but as a person who could walk on his own two legs. For once, he'd be able to see everything he'd missed the first time around. And the second time. And the… third time…

Grandt's smile fell. Well, he supposed he'd just have to see it all _this_ time around. It wouldn't be that bad; timeline-wise, he'd be unconscious right now if he'd had a heart attack, and he was genuinely curious to find out if this way saved him any time at all. More importantly, it'd give him a chance to interact with Toriel in a way that didn't inevitably devolve into arguing, awkwardness, or an attempt on his part to exit the Ruins.

He put his hands in his pockets and stepped through the doorway, feeling and hearing his hiking boots as they hit against the stone floor. _This time I'll get it right,_ he thought. _This time, I'll make sure I do the right thing._

Even an old moron like him could do the right thing every once in a while, God willing. And given that he'd just been given some sort of power to go back in time after death… Well, Grandt supposed that God was _very_ willing, indeed. That, or he had some kind of ridiculous magic power that nobody else did – or that nobody else was willing to _admit_ they had, at any rate.

Grandt shook his head and kept walking. It didn't matter _why_ he had this power. All that mattered was that it existed, and that it started at a very (and unfortunately) specific point in his life. He could use it – and, much as he hated to admit it, he knew that he would _continue_ to use it in the future. Probably because he'd run off into danger and get his neck snapped again.

 _Cra_

"Ah, Grandt!" Toriel's voice rang out, cutting through his thoughts as she walked over to him. "I have been waiting for you to…" She trailed off, and her smile slowly dropped into a deep, worried frown.

"What is wrong?" she said quietly. "You are… Are you alright? You look pale…"

Grandt was glad he had his hands in his pockets. Otherwise, Toriel would have seen them shaking.

"I'm fine," he lied. He tried to force a smile, but his mouth only went halfway up. "I-I, just… I just think the reality of my situation's starting to catch up with me. That's all."

Toriel walked up to him and looked him in the eyes. She was still a bit taller than him, and it took all of his effort to not look down.

"Are you sure?" she said. "Because if you need to sit down, I am in no rush. Believe me."

Grandt shook his head. "No," he said. "Thank you, but I'll be… I'll be fine." Then he paused. "I just need to keep walking, that's all. If I sit down, I won't be able to stop thinking about it."

That much was true, at least. As long as he kept going, he could forget about the vines. He could forget about the flower. He could forget about Relef and Warren and Shord and Fain and Dyse and Kira. He could even forget about Frisk, much as he was ashamed to admit it.

Toriel stared at him for a moment. "Alright," she finally said, "but if you feel unwell in the future, then please, let me know."

Grandt ran a hand over his forehead. "Yeah. I… I will." His hands were still trembling. "It's just… It's just something I'm not comfortable talking about. That's all."

Toriel's face softened even further, if that was at all possible. Then, she slowly walked over to Grandt and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked over at her and met her gaze. Her smile was still so warm that it made him feel guilty for not telling her the truth.

But then again, what was he supposed to say? What _could_ he say? "I've died three times, Toriel"? No. She'd think he was mad – or, more accurately, she'd think he was going senile, and she'd never let him leave the Ruins. Maybe he could tell her someday, but now?

Now, he couldn't even bring himself to talk about his heart.

"I understand," Toriel said softly. "It must be difficult, being a soldier. Fighting–" She suddenly cut herself off and shook her head.

"Forgive me." Her voice had become quiet. Embarrassed. "I-I did not mean to imply anything by that."

"'Imply anything'?" Grandt raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean? Sure, being a soldier's tough. God knows I've got more than a few scars…" He absently pulled a hand from his pocket and rubbed his beard.

Toriel looked over him thoughtfully. "You do not look terribly injured, at least," she observed. "And… you seem quite able."

Grandt smiled sadly. "Not all scars are physical, Toriel."

She suddenly closed her mouth and looked away, down the path and further into the Ruins. "… I see," she said. "I am sorry."

"Don't be," Grandt said, waving her off. "It's okay. Really." Then he looked over at one of the walls – dark and purple and cracked. "It's just… It's all just something that happened, that's all."

"Is that truly what you believe, Grandt?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "It's what I _have_ to believe. Helps me to stop thinking about it as much." Then he shook his head and sighed. "Anyway, let's stop talking about this, alright? Please?"

He was acutely aware that they'd started walking again. Not that he was paying much attention to their surroundings, anymore.

Toriel stared at him for a moment, and there was obvious unease in her eyes. "Alright," she said a moment later. "Again, I am sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I am just… I am just worried about you."

"I get that, but still." Grandt looked off down the passageway so Toriel wouldn't be able to see his face. "We're strangers, right? So why would you be so worried about me?"

He wasn't a great liar. He could lie about some things, and he could lie about them well, but he couldn't lie about _this_ without his whole face contorting guiltily. It was like whenever he tried to lie to Frisk or Warren; his face scrunched up a bit, and his brow became so furrowed that his forehead turned into a mass of wrinkles. The darkness helped to hide it a bit, but he didn't want Toriel to see it for herself. It'd just lead to more awkward questions down the line.

"Perhaps," she admitted, "but that does not mean that I cannot be worried about you. If anything, it makes me worry _more_."

 _That_ got Grandt's attention. He looked over to her, his expression now confused. "Why's that?" he asked.

And Toriel smiled. It was a small smile, but it was still a smile.

"Because if I knew you," she replied, "I would already know whether or not you could take so much weight on by yourself."

Grandt stared at her for a moment. "Toriel," he said seriously, "have you ever considered the idea that maybe there's such a thing as being _too_ good of a person?"

Toriel scoffed like the idea was ridiculous, though her smile remained. "Of course not. The world could always do with more kindness. Of course," she added, "I can hardly pretend that I am perfect."

Grandt's grin returned. "Well, if you're not perfect, you're a heck of a lot better than a lot of people I know."

"Are you sure about that?" Toriel asked. Then she smirked. "I could secretly be bringing you back to my home to steal your SOUL."

" _Please_ ," Grandt scoffed. "If you wanted that, you'd have killed me back in that cave. After all –" he took on an exaggerated slouch "– I'm just a frail old man. I'm not all that good at fighting."

"Really, _Major_?" Toriel deadpanned.

"I could've lied about my rank," Grandt said, waving her off. "For all you know, I'm just some private who pissed his pants and ran off halfway through a fight." He grinned. "Or a chef."

"A chef." Toriel stared at him. "For some reason, I find that hard to believe."

Grandt's mouth twitched. "Hey," he said seriously, "I'll have you know that I _am_ a chef. And when we get to –" _don't say it's her home don't say it's her home_ "– _wherever it is_ we're going, I'm gonna prove it."

"I will hold you to that."

"Please, do!" Grandt laughed. "Seriously, the only parts of my body that work right anymore are my hands – and even then, they sometimes fail on me." He rubbed his wrists. "Can't even hold a gun anymore. Even if I could, I can't draw up enough energy to make it fire."

Toriel nodded a bit absently. "I see," she said. "What about magic? Can you not use it anymore, either?"

"I _could_." Grandt went from rubbing his wrists to touching the back of his right hand. "Once upon a time, I could. 'Course, earth magic isn't all that helpful for a chef _or_ a soldier, so I never really took the time to learn how to use it." He sighed. "I kind of regret it, now."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure," Grandt admitted. "It's not like there's anything I could've done with it – maybe protected a few more soldiers. I've never really been a fan of using magic to fight, though. I'd always get tired so much faster than if I just used a gun."

Toriel nodded. "That makes sense. A shame, though; earth magic is quite useful."

Grandt looked over at her in surprise. "You have it?"

"No, but I have seen it in action before." Toriel touched something on the nearby wall. Her other arm was still on Grandt's shoulder, guiding him along as they walked.

"From who?" he asked. "Humans or monsters?"

"Both." Toriel paused. "It is very potent, provided you know how to use it. At least, that is what they have told me. And what I have read," she added.

"Makes sense," Grandt said. "Still, I'm fine not being too good at magic. It gave me time to practice other things."

"Like cooking?"

"Yeah. Like cooking." Grandt paused, and he contemplated what to say next. "Besides, time's something that's really important to me."

Toriel frowned. "Time is important to _everybody_."

"Sure it is. But for me…" Grandt trailed off, and then he shook his head. "For me, every second counts. I can't afford to waste time on something that _might_ prove to be useful later on."

Toriel touched something else on the wall – or was it a different wall? "… and how has that worked out for you so far?"

"It hasn't." There was no point in sugarcoating it. "There's a lot of things I wish I'd done back when I was younger. Nowadays, I have nothing but time, but I'm too old to learn anything. At least, I'm too old to learn any _magic_."

He grimaced. "There's a lot of things I regret doing, Toriel. A _lot_ of things. But… There's also a lot of things I regret _not_ doing."

Toriel nodded. Her voice was solemn. "I understand that all too well. Believe me, Grandt. There are many things I wish I had done. Things I wish I'd said."

"… yeah. That, too."

Grandt looked down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to dredge up anything unpleasant."

"No," Toriel said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "It is fine. Believe me." She smiled again. "Really, it is good to remember these sorts of things. They hurt, but they bring everything into perspective." Her smile turned sad. "They remind you how good it is to be alive."

Grandt chuckled.

"Is something about that funny?" Toriel asked. She didn't seem offended; she sounded genuinely curious.

"No, it's not that," he said, waving her off again as he laughed. "It's just… It's just that I'm wandering through these old ruins and discussing philosophy with a Boss Monster. After I've only been down here for… for what? Ten minutes?" His smile returned in full. "I just… There's a certain level of absurdity to it, don't you think?"

Toriel stared at him for a moment, and then she started laughing, too. "I guess so," she said. "I had… I did not thought of it like that." And then she broke down into that howling, over-the-top laughter that he loved so much. "Talking like this, and _right_ after you fell Underground, too! It is just… It is all _incredibly_ absurd!"

And they kept walking. They kept laughing – though Grandt's was more a chuckle because, truth be told, the "joke" wasn't _that_ funny – as they walked further down the path. Further into the Ruins.

They had been two strangers, at least as far as Toriel was aware. But in the span of a few minutes, they'd become friends. It was strange how the world worked. But it wasn't unwelcome. In fact, Grandt didn't even care about his heart right now. He didn't care about the world he'd left behind, or the way his life had been irrevocably transformed, or the way that he'd already died three times, or how Frisk was left all alone. He didn't care about Relef or Warren or Shord or Fain. He didn't notice that Toriel had already led him passed two puzzles, and that this room held nothing but a small dummy against the far wall.

For a moment – for one blissful, innocent moment – he didn't have a care in the world.

He only wished he could've stayed that way forever.

* * *

 **AN: After all the crap he's gone through lately, it's only fair that Grandt gets a bit of a break.**

 **So yes, for those of you who thought I'd be skipping over the Ruins, I've got some good (or bad) news for you: this is going to make up the majority of Subchapter 3-1. Obviously, it won't be as long as Snowdin Forest - mostly because I'm skipping over a few puzzles and because the Ruins are shorter in general -, but it'll still be fairly lengthy. Much like Snowdin Forest, it's a short, brief respite from what's gonna come after it's done. And trust me, Chapter 3 is going to have a _lot_ of content.**

 **Until then, however, thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read the story up until this point! And to those of you who are celebrating it, have a happy Thanksgiving in a couple of days!**


	23. Chapter 3-5

Unfortunately, all good things eventually come to an end. Even that moment of bliss – pure and innocent and wonderful – didn't last forever. The laughter slowly died down into quiet-but-audible chuckles. Then it stopped completely.

And Grandt, for the first time since he'd truly entered the Ruins, took notice of the area around them. Purple walls, cracked walls, just like the outside of the Ruins. They weren't as tall – really, they weren't even a tenth of the height of those outer walls –, but the ceiling was still high enough that Grandt would've had to stand on Toriel's shoulders to even graze it with his fingertips. Or at least, he _thought_ that was the case. Maybe it was closer than it looked. Maybe it was further away. He really couldn't tell, given the way certain sections of it were covered in darkness.

Then he noticed the vines. Long, thorny things running down the walls and disappearing into cracks near the floor. Grandt shuddered and pulled himself away suddenly. Jerkily.

So suddenly, in fact, that he pulled Toriel's hand from his shoulder.

He shivered and rubbed his arms. Was it just him, or had the temperature dropped? He felt… He felt _cold_.

 _Crack._

"Grandt?"

He blinked and looked over at her. She looked worried. Not like earlier, when she'd found him standing outside the Ruins and looking pale and miserable. No, this time it more resembled something like fear, like she was looking at someone who was broken beyond repair.

He tried to look away, but his body was too cold for it. "Too fast…" he whispered.

"What is too fast?" Her voice was gentle. Gentle and quiet.

"Nothing." Grandt grit his teeth. "I-I just…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. Usually, I… I'm pretty good at keeping it in. In my head." The words all came out on their own. "I'm sorry."

Toriel regarded him quietly for a moment. "Grandt," she said in that same gentle tone. "I realize I cannot force you to speak if you do not want to. But still, if you want to talk about it, please understand that I will not judge you for it."

That was a lie. Even Grandt could understand that much. Toriel may have believed it for herself – that she wouldn't judge him –, but he knew otherwise. Even so, the words were bubbling up in the back of his throat, begging to be let free. He wanted so desperately to talk about the flower and the vines and his heart and his situation and the time loop and and and

And what?

What else was he supposed to say? What else _could_ he say? Even if he tried to tell her, nothing would come out. He'd died three times already, but he couldn't even think about his heart or neck without remembering

 _Crack._

 _that_. It stuck with him. It screwed with him more than anything else in the world. Well, _almost_ anything else.

" _Traitors… don't deserve to live."_

" _Thank you for everything, Major."_

No.

No, those things… Those things would never go away. Never. At least, they hadn't gone away yet. And considering that they were each over a decade old… No. No, they would remain with him forever. Just like the vines. Just like the flower.

 _I don't need this,_ he thought furiously. _I need… I need to focus. I need to pay attention. These things'll go away. I'll forget them for a while. Just like last time. Just like last–_

"Grandt?"

" _Stop it_."

He didn't realize he'd hissed out the words until he saw Toriel flinch as though she'd been struck. A sudden feeling of shame and regret washed over him. Grandt looked down again, away from her and the vines on the wall.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was… I didn't mean to say that out loud."

A pause – longer and more awkward than usual.

"I meant that for myself. That's all." Grandt sighed. "It's just… Just forget about it, okay? I'm sorry."

More silence. Toriel stared at him in obvious concern.

Then she said, "What is the matter?"

"Nothing."

 _Now_ her expression shifted from concern to obvious disbelief. "Grandt," she deadpanned. "Contrary to what you might believe, I am not stupid."

He took a step back. "Hold on," he said, suddenly and fully alert. "I-I don't think you're stupid at all!"

"Really?" She stepped forward then, as if to match him. She crossed her arms. "Then why do you expect me to believe that nothing is wrong with you?"

"It's not that something's _wrong_ with me–"

"Grandt."

"I-I just… I'm just not really used to being down here, that's–"

" _Grandt_."

Now it was _his_ turn to wince. "Y-yes?"

Toriel sighed. "Do you mind if I am blunt for a moment?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh… Sure?"

"Good." Then Toriel breathed in deeply. "Grandt, that argument is _ridiculous_ and we both know it. If you were truly afraid because you were trapped down here, then there is no logical reason why you would come along with me so willingly. You _chose_ it of your own free will. In fact, you seemed almost excited to meet me – almost like you were greeting an old friend, rather than a total stranger."

Grandt felt his face go pale.

"Now," Toriel said, "obviously, we have never met before; that would be silly."

"Of… Of course," Grandt choked out. It took all his energy not to let out a sigh of relief.

"However!" Toriel added. "I _do_ know for a fact that these reactions are not the result of falling down here. They are from something else entirely – something that is clearly causing you immense stress. Like I said before, I will not pry into it. I will not ask you to tell me what it is because clearly you do not want to speak. And that is fine. All I ask is that you do not _lie_ to me." She stretched out her hand. "Is that acceptable?"

Grandt stared at her for a moment, wordlessly. Then the corners of his mouth twitched up a bit. "Yeah…" he said, taking her hand. "That's fine."

He stopped, and his grip slackened a bit. "There's… There are a lot of things, to be honest. A lot of things that I don't think I should say." A pause. "That I… That I don't think I _can_ say."

"That is fine," Toriel assured him. "You do not need to tell me anything. But" – and her face became softer as she said this – "if ever the need arises for you to tell me, then please, do not hesitate just because you are afraid."

"I won't." Grandt stopped for a moment and considered that. Then he shook his head. "I'll try not to."

Toriel studied him for a moment, and then she smiled. "Good," she said. "That is all that I can ask. And," she added, face brightening even further, "it is good that we trust each other while we are still not terribly far Ruins. It will make the rest of our journey much more pleasant."

Grandt nodded and touched the back of his head. "Yeah," he said. "I-I guess… Wait, how much longer do we have to go?"

Toriel glanced over at the room's exit – a tall doorway perched between the two strands of vines. "Not far," she said. "The way to that flowerbed usually only takes me half an hour or so. It will certainly take longer getting back, but I cannot imagine it being more than an hour or so."

When she noticed how Grandt visibly suppressed a shudder, she looked back over at him. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No, not with that." Grandt tried to keep his eyes from wandering back to the things next to the door. He opted to just close them. "It's just…"

He took a deep breath. He'd agreed not to lie, right? It was only fair he told her _something_ about it. Maybe it'd help him, too.

"It's the vines."

Toriel looked over at the wall, confused. "'Vines'?" she echoed. "What vines, Grandt? There are no vines. At least, not in this chamber."

Grandt's eyes popped open. "What? Wait, what are you talking about? Of… Of course there are!" He pointed at them. "They're right next to the door!"

There was a moment's pause.

"Grandt, those are not vines," Toriel deadpanned.

He faltered a bit. "They're… They're not? Then what are they?"

"Hedera." Toriel affixed him with a look. "Ivy. It is all over the Ruins – surely, you have seen it by now?"

And Grandt could suddenly see them more clearly. That wall was so dark it was hard to tell from even close by, but he now that Toriel had said it, he could easily see what she meant. They were strands of ivy, growing up the walls from cracks in the floor; they weren't vines coming down from above. What he'd thought were thorns were just leaves that were angled in such a way that they looked sharp.

"Oh," he said. "I-I guess you're right."

How hadn't he noticed it? Even if the wall was dark, that wasn't an excuse for him to have such a knee-jerk reaction! It was stupid of him. Worse than that, he'd dragged Toriel into his problems because he'd looked first and thought second.

He opened his mouth to apologize when Toriel cut him off. "Grandt, I am seriously worried about you."

He winced. "I know…"

"Are you… Are you certain that you feel okay?" Toriel quietly stared at him for a moment. "I hate to be rude, but you seem–"

"Yeah," he interrupted, suddenly feeling very tired. "Yeah, I know. I know I'm messed up…" He smiled more than a bit sadly. "Really messed up. Probably one of the most screwed up people you've ever seen, right?"

Toriel stared at him quietly, and then she slowly shook her head. "No," she said. "Honestly, Grandt? You may be one of the most put-together people who has fallen down. Sad though I am to admit it."

He turned around and stared off into the doorway. Down the passage. There was nothing in there that he could see. Nothing but darkness.

"That's easy, though," he said, voice low. "The rest were… The rest were children. They had their whole _lives_ ahead of them! They could've done anything…" He touched his chest – just above his heart. "And they chose to climb the mountain." He shook his head slowly. "No, they didn't choose. Maybe they never really had a choice at all."

"What do you mean?"

Grandt turned his head back. "Toriel, do you… Do you know what happened up on the surface fourteen years ago?"

Silence.

"I…" Toriel went quiet. She looked at the ground. "I know some of it."

"How much?"

"That there was an evil man." A pause. "That he and his men began a war in Idyllia. That they…" She breathed in deeply. It was obvious she was trying not to shake. "That they killed a lot of people. A lot of _good_ people."

Grandt said nothing. He just turned his head back to the darkness and stared. Strange. He never thought he'd feel so _empty_. He never thought he'd be capable of it since he'd gotten over that last spell. He never thought–

He never thought.

"… _and goodbye."_

His fingers dug into the fabric of his pants. Fingernails bit into the palms of his hands, even through a thick layer of cotton. His teeth were grit.

And then he sighed. Deeply. Tiredly. Emptily.

"… yeah. I guess that did happen, didn't it?"

He shook his head and stepped forward. His boots let out a sound as they hit against the stone – a dull, thudding kind of sound. Rubber against stone.

Then he stopped.

"Toriel," he said.

"Y-yes?"

"Most of the kids who climbed the mountain… None of them would've been there if the war hadn't happened." He went quiet for a few seconds. "I just… I-I just wanted to let you know that."

She didn't respond.

There were other things he could've said, but all of them were stuck in the back of his throat. Just like his heart. Just like his ability to die and restart. They were all trapped in his throat and wouldn't come out. And they were choking him.

So he breathed in deeply, and with silence and tiredness in the forefront of his mind, Grandt continued to step down the hallway and into the darkness of the Ruins.

* * *

 **AN: That poor dummy. Imagine having to sit there and watch while some old guy talks about being sad for like ten minutes.**

 **Sorry that this chapter's a bit shorter than the norm. I was tempted to put the next puzzle in, but it clashed a bit too much with the mood I'd built up through here, so I decided I'd let this one stand on its own. I'll try to cover the next two or three rooms of the Ruins next time to make up for it. Chapters after this one should also be a bit longer, so I'll be able to cover a bit more ground.**

 **Thanks to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read the story up until this point! I'll see you all next time, when we'll make actual** **progress into the Ruins!**


	24. Chapter 3-6

Grandt didn't think he'd calm down for quite a while. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, even when they were stuffed into his pockets. His head felt light. It was the kind of light where it felt like your body was a tenth of its normal weight. Where you felt tired and anxious and nervous. Where you were too emotionally exhausted to even think about what was going on around you. That was how Grandt felt.

And he hated it. Really, he hated it. He hated every second spent replaying those same moments in his head over and over again like a broken record player. He hated thinking about the war at all. It was all garbage. All shit. It made it impossible for him to smell anything except for blood and fire and corpses. To _hear_ anything except for screams and gunshots and those damned words that wouldn't leave him alone.

It was all just so painful. It was all just so _much_. He'd been able to forget about it thanks to everyone in Ebott – or rather, he'd pretended to forget about it. In truth, there hadn't been a single night in the last fourteen years where he hadn't dreamed about the day when the war begun. Then ten years ago, he'd started having nightmares about the day when Shord and Fain had been slaughtered in front of his eyes.

He could still hear that, too. The sound of those claws digging into Shord's guts. Into Fain's throat. Just like when Sans had killed him.

Grandt shuddered and grabbed at his arms. His back was pressed against a nearby wall, and he was sitting on the floor. There was something like a stone tablet just above his head, though he hadn't bothered to read it. What was the point? It wasn't like he had any interest in going forward, just yet. Not until Toriel caught up to him.

 _What if she doesn't catch up?_ he thought. _What then?_

He looked up at the ceiling, so far away he couldn't even hope to touch it.

 _I'll figure something out. If it means I have to trudge through this place on my own, that's fine. I can deal with that._

But could he? Sure, he'd made substantial progress through Snowdin with neither Toriel nor Sans there to help him, but so what? There were plenty of things that he'd never have made it passed if either of them hadn't been there. Really, when it came down to it, Grandt was useless on his own. He hadn't always been that way, but something in the past several years had made him completely incapable of anything but cooking.

And that scared him. It scared him more than anything else in the world – more than Kallis coming back, even. At least in that case, there were outcomes that could be good, or at least decent. But when it came to Grandt's body falling apart like this? There was nothing good in it. There was nothing he could do but sit back and wait for it to eat at his heart.

Then what would he do? Would he be forced to restart this whole thing over again, even if the death was something he couldn't avoid? Would he be forced to relive this entire thing over and over and over again?

 _No. No, just stop. It doesn't matter._

 _Doesn't it, though? Doesn't it matter at all? If that's true and it never ends, why should I–?_

 _Don't assume it'll never end. Just keep moving forward. Don't think about things like that. Don't worry about it._

 _But–_

 _Do you know it'll happen? Do you_ know _you'll spend eternity stuck going through this place forever? No. Of course not. Because it hasn't happened yet. Once you get out of here, then you can think about things like that. Then you can sit still and wait to die or whatever it is you want to do. Whatever it is I want to do. Until then, there's no point in freaking out about it. Just like there's no point worrying about Kallis coming back._

And he was right, of course. There was no point in worrying about something when there was no proof it would happen. But Grandt was old, and he'd spent so much time worrying about such things that it didn't matter if he looked at them logically. He could pretend it helped, but ultimately, he'd just go back to thinking of them again not long afterward.

It wasn't any different than when he'd walked with Toriel. Sure, he'd pushed those thoughts away for a moment, but so what? They just came back, as they always did. Everything about Warren and Kallis and Shord and Fain and everyone else spilled back into his memories with an overwhelming sort of force. They'd never really gone away. They'd just been hiding, like rats living in the walls. You could tune them out and say, "I refuse to believe there's anything in there," and then one day you'd walk passed and hear them squeaking.

That was Grandt every day, only the rats squeaked so loudly he'd nearly developed tinnitus. Like in that book – that wretched, wonderful book – they'd only brought about disease and decay.

He slowly pressed his fingers against the nearby wall. The bricks, the cracks… They all felt cool beneath his fingertips. Like the air of the Ruins, they felt like the brisk wind of an autumn afternoon. Probably because they'd been sitting there for God knew how long.

Just like how Grandt had been sitting there, back against those bricks, staring across at the opposite wall for what could've been anywhere between five and forty-five minutes. For a moment, he had to wonder if he'd ever spend so much time dying and resetting that he'd become the same age as the Ruins – mentally, of course, since there was no way in hell his body would last long enough. Then again, he'd also just learned that he could travel back in time by dying, so who was he to argue what was and wasn't possible? Maybe his heart _could_ be cured, someday.

" _There is no Healing Magic."_

He frowned. _Probably not, though._

Grandt pressed his fingers harder against the wall and pulled himself back to his feet. He stumbled a bit as he stood up, but he quickly righted himself.

"Now or never," he murmured, running a hand over his beard. "Never or now."

He was tired of a lot of things by now. He was tired of remembering anything about the war. He was tired of dying. But more than anything, he was tired of sitting around and feeling sorry for himself. There wasn't any point in it. It just wasted his time.

Grandt looked to his left, towards the path leading further into the Ruins. There was water, there – water and a small "island" of those spikes Grandt had seen on the barricades in Snowdin Forest. The island was connected to each side of the passageway by a pair of large, wooden platforms. He briefly wondered what the puzzle was before he noticed what it said on the sign behind him.

It read, "The western room is the eastern room's blueprint."

"Well, that makes it a bit simpler…" Grandt mused. He looked to his left – to the almost empty chamber. "Guess that's west… and that –" he looked back to the spike-filled room "– is east?"

He sighed and pressed a hand against his forehead. "But does it really _matter_ which room is which? The path should be the same for both, right? Maybe?" Grandt moved his hand down to his beard. "Jeez… Why can't all these puzzles be ketchup bottles? It'd make 'em a lot easier."

Grandt stuck his hands back in his pockets and walked over to the empty (the western?) chamber. He meant to see if there was anything he could do to understand the puzzle a bit more – markings on the ground or something along those lines. It probably wouldn't be too hard to find; he loved Toriel, but she wasn't exactly good at being subtle.

So he walked along a bit, watching the floor and walls and ceiling. There was ivy on the walls (and he winced a bit at the thought, given how he'd just made such a fool of himself over the stuff). Could there be something hidden behind that? He didn't know what this place's gimmick was, like how Snowdin Forest had those weird tiles and that ice. Maybe he should've been paying more attention on the way here instead of talking to Toriel. Instead of trying to forget everything.

Grandt looked it all over again. Surely, he had to be missing something. Anything!

"'The western room is the eastern room's blueprint,'" he said, tapping his forehead. "Come on, Grandt! Think! Something in here has to say what you need to do!"

No, he already _knew_ what he had to do. The hard part was figuring out how to do it. Maybe there was something on the edge, where there was water in the other chamber? But no, that wasn't it because there was nothing there. Nothing on the walls or ceiling, either (or if there _was_ something on the ceiling, he couldn't read it).

So the floor, then? But there was nothing there, either! Just a path like in the previous rooms! Just a… path…

There was a moment of very, _very_ audible silence as Grandt slowly pressed his hand against his forehead. "Of course…" he groaned. "Of freaking _course_ …"

One of these days, he'd learn to look at the most obvious place first. It was a simple enough puzzle, to the point where even a small child could probably figure it out without much effort. He was just overthinking it. Just like how he overthought everything else.

He looked down and studied the floor for a moment. There wasn't anything particularly challenging in the pattern. All he needed was to walk along the lines that were shown, unless the puzzle's designers were cruel enough to have mirrored the rooms. They probably didn't, but hey, it was possible. Given Grandt's track record, it wasn't even unlikely.

 _No, stop it. Don't think like that. There's no point in it._

Grandt scratched the top of his head a bit idly. There really wasn't any point in it, was there? No point in sitting around and wasting his time and acting like his life was so much harder than anyone else's. It'd been difficult, sure, but so what? He could brood when he had time to brood, when he wasn't bothering anyone else with his "woe is me" crap. It'd be easy; he just had to watch what he said and how he said it. So he allowed himself a small smile, and he turned his head to look at more of the "blueprints."

And that's when he noticed Toriel. She was just sitting in the short passageway leading to the previous room – the room with the dummy and the ivy that'd scared him. He was surprised he'd missed her in the first place, but then again, Grandt figured he was so focused on solving the puzzle he hadn't seen her at all.

She was about halfway through the passage. Her back was up against the wall, just as Grandt's had been only a few minutes ago. Toriel's hands were pressed against her knees. Her eyes were glazed over, detached. And her expression was sorrowful; Toriel was frowning and her head was turned down towards the floor. If her eyes weren't open, she could've been sleeping.

This was what Grandt had been afraid of. He'd known that she hadn't passed him, but he wasn't sure why she'd stayed. Of course, he'd had his theories; maybe she'd wanted to give him time to cool down, or maybe she'd noticed something further back in the Ruins that had distracted her. The thought that _she'd_ become empty, too, was something he'd only entertained for a moment or so before shoving it into the back of his mind. After all, he didn't want to imagine it. He hated imagining anyone like this – slumped over and tired and broken –, even though he thought about it every day.

It was her eyes that really got him, though. He'd seen those kinds of eyes before. He'd seen them even when nobody else could. Empty eyes. Quiet eyes. Eyes people hid behind smiles, behind kindness. Eyes people hid behind lies.

He hated those eyes. Grandt hated a lot of things – a lot of silly, emotional things –, but he hated those eyes to an extent he couldn't even describe. He remembered the first time he'd really seen them, back when a young soldier had just witnessed his brother get butchered by one of those bastards from Winterfell. The kid just sat down in the middle of the battlefield as the bandit pressed a gun up against his head. He just sat there and stared and did nothing. Grandt didn't know if he'd even been aware of the bullet entering his brain until it was too late. Maybe he'd never noticed it at all.

Grandt grit his teeth and shook his head. There was no point in thinking about that, either.

So instead, he cleared his mind of the boy and the brother and the bandit, and he stepped over to Toriel's side. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. A moment later, she slowly looked up at him.

"You alright?" he asked gently.

She was quiet for a second. "All those lives…" she finally murmured. "All those _children_ , Grandt…"

"I know," he said. "I know."

"No, Grandt." Toriel shook her head. "They all tried so hard… They all tried so hard to get out of here. Out of the Ruins." A pause. "Out of the Underground."

She was silent for a moment. "The second one… He was such a nice boy, Grandt. He was so kind." She stopped for a moment, and she turned her eyes back to the floor. "Jack – that was his name, you know. I allowed him to wander on his own. I knew he could make it if he tried. The monsters adored him so much. They loved him."

Toriel pulled her legs in close. "One day, he did not respond when I called for him. I thought that maybe he was just out of range, or something. That he would come back on his own."

Grandt's limbs were heavy. "But he didn't."

She nodded. Slowly, she nodded. Like her head just wouldn't move the way she wanted it to.

"I-I went after him. I was so… so worried…" She was crying, now. "I searched for so long." There was another pause. It was longer this time. Quieter. "I found his body. He… He was at the bottom of a pit, Grandt. He had fallen down while playing."

Grandt sat down next to her. His body felt stiff.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Toriel didn't look at him. "He was eleven, Grandt. _Eleven_. He was so young. He was so kind…" Her eyes shut tightly, and he could see the tears fall. "I could not even save his SOUL."

"I'm sorry."

It was a lame response. He _knew_ it was a lame response, but there was nothing else he could say.

"There were so many of them," Toriel continued. "So, so many. Five may seem like a small number, but… but they were five lives, Grandt. Five _children_. And for what? For what…?"

Grandt couldn't take it anymore. He hated seeing anyone like this, but with Toriel, it somehow felt completely _wrong_. She was his friend; she was someone who was so compassionate and warm and kind that she defied belief. She was sitting beside him and sobbing her eyes out, and there was nothing he could do about it. There weren't any words he could say to mend her emotional wounds. Any apologies he might have made were empty. Meaningless.

So he did the only thing that came to mind: he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her head close to his shoulder. She was still taller than him, so it was a bit awkward, but it was the best he could do.

And then he said, "You know, my old sergeant said something to me, once. He said, 'Private Journa, there's only two times a soldier's allowed to cry.'" He took a breath. "'The first time is when you're all alone, when there's no around to see you. When there's no one around to judge you for it.'"

Toriel looked over at him with bleary eyes. "And… the second time?"

"The second time…" Grandt trailed off, and then he shook his head and smiled a bit. "This is what he told me: 'The second time is whenever the hell you want. No self-respecting soldier gives a shit about being judged.'"

There was a moment of silence before Toriel let out a weak chuckle. "That sergeant sounds like he was fun to be around."

"He was," Grandt said, leaning his head back against the wall. "He was a wonderful man. Always said things like that, too." His smile turned wistful. "You know, I've always wondered what he'd have thought about the war. He'd probably have said something like, 'It's a waste of time! Why're these jackasses fighting each other over nothing?'" A pause. "That's how he always talked; he swore like a sailor."

Toriel nodded slowly.

"S-so anyway, I'm getting off track." He looked across at the opposite wall. "I just… Look, do you get what I'm saying? What I'm trying to say?" When Toriel didn't respond, he continued, "There's nothing I can really say to help you. Not… Not really. Honestly, I'm garbage at this sort of thing. I always have been." His eyes turned down – down towards the path, down towards the dirt and dust and stone. "But at least I can promise you a shoulder to cry on."

Toriel gave another weak, somewhat-bitter chuckle. "Look at me," she said. "Here I am, crying like this… Burdening you with things I have no right to burden you with."

Grandt was quiet for a moment. "It's fine. Believe me, it's fine." Then, "God knows I've burdened you with a lot of my own baggage. It's only fair."

"Really? You think that?"

"Yeah."

Grandt continued, "I've seen a lot of bad things in my life, Toriel. A lot of deaths and… and other things like that." He stopped to take a breath. "It's fine. I won't judge you for it. Honestly, I… I _can't_ judge you for it. God knows I've cried a lot, lately."

There was another moment of pure, abject silence as Toriel seemed to process that statement. She pulled herself away from his arm, and she sat up against the wall. Then she smiled. It was a small smile, but it was still a smile.

"Thank you."

"… yeah. Anytime."

Her smile grew a bit, and she wiped her eyes. "Thank you," she repeated. "I think… I believe I should be good, now. I should be ready to keep going."

"You sure?" Grandt asked. "I'm willing to wait a bit. I'm not…" _Just say it. This is what matters right now, not you._ "I'm not in any rush. At least… No, I can wait as long as you need to."

She shook her head. "No," she said. "No, it will be fine. I will be fine."

Grandt stared at her for a moment. And then he smiled. "Good. I'm glad to hear it." His frown returned. "But seriously, if you need to sit down for a moment, I can wait for a moment. Really, it's no trouble at all."

"Grandt…" Toriel trailed off for a moment, and then she gave a genuine chuckle. "Have you ever considered the idea that maybe there is such a thing as being _too_ good of a person?"

Grandt's grin returned in full. "Of course not!" he laughed. "After all, the world could always do with a little more kindness, right?"

Toriel grinned back. "Indeed." Her tears were almost completely dry.

And that was all they had to do. It wasn't just him or Toriel – in a way, everyone did the same thing when it came to traumatic, depressing memories. They took the things they really cared for and used them to bandage the wounds. Sure, they would have to confront the things they hated someday – whether it was a fear of dying, anger over a past slight, or sorrow for the death of a person's loved ones –, but there would always be something to care about. Something to protect.

It could be anything. It could be a loved one, a nation… or even a story. As long as there was something to live for, the past could be forgotten. Sorrow, anger, fear, hatred, rage… All those things could be swept away, even if it was just for a moment. And that was fine. A moment of bliss was worth a lifetime of pain.

If being kind could help people – if it could _really_ help people – then why would he ever be cruel? No. No, there was no point in it. He hated the way cruelty felt. He hated the way that anger boiled and bubbled up inside of him every time he thought about Kallis or that flower. He hated how he'd treated Toriel in previous iterations of this existence.

But that was fine. Hatred was probably supposed to feel terrible.

Grandt stood up and held out a hand. He helped Toriel to her feet, and the two stepped forward and into the room with two chambers. They stood there for a moment – quiet as they were when they came in – before they gave each other a glance and nodded.

"… I will trust you to solve this one on your own," Toriel said. "It is fairly simple."

Grandt smirked a bit. "Are you sure? It doesn't look all that easy. I'd probably have an easier time opening a ketchup bottle than I would getting through here."

Toriel frowned. "Why a ketchup bottle?"

"Eh, no reason," Grandt lied.

He looked over the floor for a moment, memorizing the walkway that made up the room's "blueprints" before he moved on down the passageway. He reached the entrance to the other chamber. Then he stepped out onto the wooden bridge – the part that connected the island of spikes to the rest of the chamber –, and he stared out and over to the other side.

"Easy enough…" he said.

His foot twitched, and he raised it up to step forward when another idea struck him – a better idea. A much, _much_ better idea. Well, a funnier idea, at any rate.

So with Toriel watching and her face twisted in confusion, Grandt stepped from the bridge to the pale water below. He grimaced on contact; it was cold, but at least it only went up to his ankles. He stood still for a moment, and the coldness died down when he could only barely feel it through his boots.

"Grandt," Toriel said from behind him, "what are you doing?"

He grinned. "Solving the puzzle."

Then he trudged along. He walked the outside perimeter of the room, making sure that he didn't touch the island as he went along. The water provided no resistance whatsoever – there weren't any traps or anything like that, thankfully –, so his walk was a simple one.

When he reached the bridge on the opposite side, he stepped onto it one foot at a time. Then he turned back to Toriel, crossed his arms, and allowed his grin to grow even larger.

"I solved it."

Toriel gaped. "You cheated."

"No, I didn't. I just solved it differently than you meant me to."

Toriel threw her hands in the air in mock frustration. "I cannot believe I have been spending time with a cheater!" she exclaimed. "I cannot even stand near you. You emit fraud."

"What? _Nooo_." Grandt waved her off. "It's solved, see? Look, you're over _there_ –" he pointed at the opposite side "– and _I'm_ over _here_." He gestured at himself. "See? Solved."

"No."

"What was that? Sorry, I couldn't hear you from _all the way over here_."

"Well, perhaps if you had solved the puzzle the _right_ way, you would be able to."

"Really? Well, why don't you show me the 'right way,' then?"

Neither of the two could hide their grins. Grandt wasn't even trying. Toriel looked like she'd given up partway through.

"Alright," she said, arms crossed. "I will!"

She stepped forward, and – keeping her eyes locked with his the entire time – she effortlessly walked the correct path. Her steps were fluid. Practiced. Like the steps of somebody who knew that route and knew it well.

Within seconds, she was standing in front of Grandt. Her grin was one of pure, concentrated smugness.

Grandt stared at her for a moment. "… fair enough," he grumbled.

"Nobody likes a sore loser, Grandt."

"Nobody likes a sore winner, either."

"I solved the puzzle the right way."

" _One_ of the right ways." Grandt crossed his own arms. "I found a solution you didn't think about. That's why you test these things. Helps you iron out the bugs."

He was trying _so_ hard to keep a straight face. His mouth was twitching, but it was still flat.

Toriel, on the other hand, was clearly embracing her position as the victor. "There is no shame in being wrong, Grandt. Clearly, my path – ah, excuse me, the _right_ path – was better; I got here faster than you, _and_ I am dry."

"Sure." Grandt smirked. "But _you_ conformed to the basic rules of the problem. _I_ thought outside of the box. Creative thinking is much better than just blindly following instructions."

There was a moment of silence as Toriel considered that statement. "Well," she admitted, "I can hardly argue with that. But still, you are wrong."

"Really."

"Of course! Or do you have some way to prove otherwise?"

Grandt stared at her in silence. Then his smile turned downright conspiratorial.

"Alright," he said. "Alright, how about this? From now on, I'm gonna do every single puzzle I come across in a way it's not supposed to be solved." He gestured to the island, to the spikes. "Until I get out of the Underground – however it is I do it –, I'll solve every puzzle the 'wrong' way."

Toriel snorted. "And what will that prove?"

"That I'm good at this. _That's_ what it'll prove. That your so-called 'right way' is really just _one_ way, and these puzzles can be solved however the solver likes."

Then she stared at him flatly for a moment – for a long, _long_ moment. Then the look in her eyes transformed into something mischievous, and she clapped a hand on Grandt's shoulder.

"Alright," she said. "Go for it, then. I will be glad to see how you solve everything."

"Great!" Grandt said, pressing a hand to his beard while he grinned. "Let's go, then; I've got more puzzles to break."

"Ah, yes… Wait, what did you just say?"

"Solve. I've got more puzzles to solve."

"That is what I thought…"

And they walked. They walked from the chamber into the next one, Grandt's khakis and boots almost completely dry. He didn't know what to expect; really, he couldn't even imagine what was coming up next. For all he knew, the next few puzzles could be incredibly linear, but so what? That didn't matter. It wasn't about solving them oddly. It was never about that.

It was about having fun with it. It was about distracting himself and Toriel from their sorrows and angers and whatever else for however long he could. It was about giving himself a chance to have more witty conversations with someone he now considered a good friend. It was about having fun. Those were the only things that he really cared about, right now.

After all, with everything in his life considered, Grandt was going to take what little joys he could get. And if it distracted him from the flower, from Kallis, from Sans's claws, and from his own death, then all the better for it. All he had to do was keep walking. Everything else could be sorted out later.

* * *

 **AN: It's not _exactly_ two rooms, but considering the fact that the hallway coming up next will be completely skipped over since there's really nothing interesting in it, I'll consider it done.**

 **More importantly, the mood's gotten a lot lighter since last time. While there were a few things I meant to touch on a bit more - the war in particular -, I'm happy with how this chapter ended off. Besides, there's still plenty of time left before the Ruins come to an end. And after that… Well, we'll get to it when we get to it.**

 **Moving on to more important matters, there is a chance I will not be able to update next week (December 13, 2016) due to a number of factors. This is not a guarantee that I won't update next week (since I want to imagine that it won't be a problem), but I just wanted to let you all know in case I can't get a chapter out.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read the story up to this point! Next time, Grandt will continue to solve puzzles in the wrongest ways that still technically work.**


	25. Chapter 3-7

_I'm glad, Major Journa. I'm really glad. I'm glad to see that you're adjusting so well to everything that's happened._

 _It's strange. I don't think I've seen this one before. Or if I have, then it's been a long, long time since I've seen it._

 _Tell me, Major. Tell me… Does it hurt? Can you feel it, even now? If only I could read your mind, perhaps I'd know for sure. If only I could speak with you._

 _But that's fine. I'm fine like this. It shouldn't be long, anyway. Something will happen soon. Something will change. And when it does, I won't have to suffer anymore._

* * *

"God…" Grandt groaned. "That was a long hallway…"

"Are you tired, Grandt?" Toriel asked, looking concerned. "Do you need to rest for a moment?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I climbed Mt. Ebott, after all. I can handle a hallway."

"You are certain?"

"Yeah, of course." Grandt breathed in a bit deeper than normal. "I should be fine. Don't worry about me."

He stopped for a moment, and he chuckled. "Besides, I still have more puzzles to solve, right? Wouldn't be able to do that if I just keeled over right here."

Toriel smiled. "Ah, yes. More puzzles to 'solve.'"

"Exactly." Grandt smirked. Then he looked around the room. "So," he said, "where are we, now?"

"A sort of… rest stop, I suppose?" Toriel said. "Yes, that is the best word for it. There are no puzzles in this room. It is more a place to sit down and relax for a spell."

Grandt stepped throughout the room. The floor was littered with red and orange leaves. They'd been gathered into several piles, and he could see that a few of them were rustling. Was it from the wind, perhaps? Or maybe there were monsters inside the piles, waiting to jump out at any moment!

He smiled at the thought. It was a silly thought, like all those times Frisk had tried to cook for him on his birthday. Sure, she was a smart girl, but she wasn't a great cook, and she knew it. She always froze up whenever a dish called for butter, too, even though she ate through dairy products like there was no tomorrow. He guessed Frisk was just a weird kid, sometimes, but he didn't love her any less for it.

He'd have to make her something when he got out of here. Something nice. Probably something sweet, knowing her tastes. It was a grandfather's job to spoil his grandchildren from time to time.

Then Grandt turned his attention back to the room – to the brick walls, to the leaves, to the sudden chill that ran along his uncovered face.

"It's nice," he said. "Quiet. It's a bit cold, though."

Toriel chuckled. "I suppose so. Do you want to know why?"

Grandt nodded, and Toriel pointed up to the ceiling. He turned his gaze upward. Then his breath caught in his throat, and he could only stare in pure, undiluted awe.

"Is that what I think it is…?" he asked. His voice had become quiet.

Toriel nodded. "Yes," she said. "Moonlight."

It streamed brilliantly through a hole in the center of the ceiling. It was not a large hole, of course, but it was large enough that someone could clearly see what lay on the other side. The light streamed down through it, brightening the chamber in a way that no lamp ever could.

"We could not bring ourselves to cover it up." Toriel said. "It is not large enough for a person to fall through, but leaves and seeds often get blown down here."

Grandt didn't turn his eyes away. "What about snow?"

"It is too warm down here for snow. It melts quickly." Toriel paused for a moment. "The water that is left behind, on the other hand… Well, we tend to use that in our puzzles."

"Really?"

"Yes. It is very useful."

They both stopped talking, then. Grandt and Toriel simply stared up – up at the ceiling, at the sky, at the full moon that hung in the air.

"I guess it stopped raining," he said after about a minute.

"A few hours ago, yes."

Grandt nodded. "It's strange," he said. "I never thought the moon would look so beautiful."

"Sometimes when I have much on my mind, I come here." Toriel reached up with one hand, as if she wanted to touch the sky. "I lay back in those leaves. I stare up at the sky, and I think of what the surface must be like, now." A pause. "Is it beautiful? Is it diseased?"

"It's not diseased," Grandt replied. "We still have flowers."

And Toriel's expression shifted completely. The wistful look in her eyes faded. She smiled softly, as though Grandt had said something truly wonderful.

"What kinds of flowers?" she asked.

"Many kinds. Roses, lilacs… All kinds of flowers, really. We've got a huge bed of those golden flowers – you know which ones I'm talking about, right?"

"Yes."

"Yeah. We've got a huge bed of those sitting in the middle of our village."

Toriel was quiet again. "… it sounds lovely."

"It is. It really is." Grandt tore his eyes away from the moon and looked down at the ground. "Lately, though… Well, I haven't really been that much of a fan of 'em."

"Why not?"

"A few reasons," Grandt said. "A lot of reasons."

"I see."

"Yeah." Grandt sighed. "It's weird. I guess when you see something every day, you don't really think about it all that much. It's just… It's just _there_."

"Like those flowers?"

"Like the moon." Grandt looked back up at the hole in the ceiling, at the bright light shining back. "It's a beautiful night," he said. "I only wish I could see more of it."

Toriel nodded. "Yes. Me, too."

Silence.

Grandt looked over at Toriel. "Can you…?" He paused for a moment and considered his words. "Can you see the sunrise through here?"

"Not usually," Toriel replied, and she winced a bit when she saw his shoulders drop. "But," she added quickly, "the sun _set_ is absolutely lovely! I come by here, sometimes, just to see it for myself."

Grandt nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'm sure it is."

"Yes."

Silence fell again, but this time there was something a bit more awkward behind it. Something a bit more uncomfortable.

Then Grandt turned his gaze back toward the hole in the ceiling. "Yeah," he repeated. "I…" And then he froze, suddenly. His breath caught in his throat and his heart turned to ice in his chest.

"Toriel!" he said. "Do you… Do you see that?!"

Because against the moon, he swore he could see _something_ – or some _one_ , perhaps? It was a darkish figure, but parts of it seemed to shine with an almost unnatural light. He couldn't make out what parts they must have been, given that it looked like it was far away. He couldn't even tell if it was human or if it could see him.

Grandt looked over at Toriel. "Do you see that?!" he said again. It was a bit more frantic this time.

After all, if there were someone outside the mountain, he could cry out to them, right? He could ask them for…

… for what, exactly? For help? No, he couldn't ask for that. He couldn't make someone else climb down with him. And if it were Kira or Dyse, he'd definitely not want to ask that. Especially not if it were Kira or Dyse.

"Do I see what, Grandt?" Toriel's voice said. It sounded distant, and Grandt couldn't tear his eyes away from the silhouette.

 _But if it's one of them,_ he thought, _then I can say something! I can say… I-I can tell them about everything that's happened! I can give my…_

His what? His last words?

 _No, no! That's not… That's not right. I promised I'd leave this mountain, didn't I? I can't second-guess myself, not now! So… So I–_

Grandt took a step forward. It didn't get him closer to the hole, but he didn't care. "Hey! Hey, who's out there?! Is anyone out there?!"

The silhouette didn't answer. But it turned a bit, and Grandt could see that its eyes – were they its eyes? No, they couldn't be – looked like they were a bright, unnatural sort of white. They stood out against the darkness, cutting through it like a pair of moons. It was like…

 _Like the skeletons' eyes, right? It's like them. Bright. Empty._

He choked and stepped back, suddenly pressing his hand against his throat defensively. He couldn't hear his throat crack, but he could feel the blood flowing between Sans's fingers. He could hear himself choking and drowning in his own blood again. He could feel his charred, burnt heart.

 _It won't go away,_ he thought again, unable to get his mind off the pain and fear and _hopelessness_. _It will never go away. They'll forget it, you know. You'll never forget it._

But still, he bit down on the inside of his mouth, right next to his scar. The silhouette seemed closer, somehow, as though it were peering into the hole, and the eye-like lights were now even wider than before. "Wh-Who's there?! Come on! I can see you! Who's–?!"

He was suddenly cut off when Toriel placed a hand on his shoulder. Grandt blinked once, twice, and then he looked over at her.

She simply stared at him for a moment, and then she slowly shook her head.

Grandt looked down, dejected. "You didn't see it, did you?"

"No." A pause. "I am sorry. I–"

"No, it's not your fault." Grandt breathed in slowly, and then he let it all out as a long sigh. "I just… I must've… I guess I'm not really…" The words poured out of his mouth without any kind of rhyme or reason. He really didn't know what to say. In the end, there was nothing he _could_ say.

He shouldn't have gotten so hopeful. It was probably just a branch. Or maybe it was some kind of animal. Mt. Ebott had a few animals that could have made a silhouette like that, maybe. Or perhaps he was just going insane from dying so much. That was always a possibility, too, he supposed.

What was he supposed to say? What _could_ he say, really? After he'd just gone out of his way to comfort Toriel, he'd started screaming at shadows. That wasn't right. Or was it? It was getting harder and harder to tell what was real and what was false.

"I need to calm down," he said. "I need to just… I need to just _calm down_ for a moment." He shook his head. "I keep thinking about this stuff too much. There's nothing good in it."

"Why do you say that?" Toriel asked. She stepped forward a bit. Grandt could hear the leaves crunch beneath her feet.

Grandt bit down near his scar again before he answered. "Because it's driving me insane," he said. "I can't stop thinking about it! About the surface, and about everyone there. I just…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I don't want to obsess over it like this. I shouldn't. I should just focus on solving puzzles and getting out of here."

Toriel smiled wryly. "'Solving' puzzles?"

"Yeah, that." Grandt chuckled a bit. "I mean… I don't know. I just want to get through here without having to think too much about all of this."

"I understand," Toriel said. "Believe me. I understand what you mean."

He knew she did. She'd probably seen all those children scream at the hole in the ceiling, begging for _someone_ to pass in front of it. Hoping for someone to pass in front of it. He wondered how many of them had hallucinated someone up there like him, provided that the strange figure had been a hallucination at all. (It probably was, though, given that Toriel hadn't seen it.)

"Maybe we should leave," he said a moment later. Then he ran a hand over his beard. "I don't want to see the sky again until I'm outside the mountain."

Toriel stared at him for a moment, as though she were contemplating his words. And then she smiled again. "Yes, that sounds like a good idea." She paused. "Besides, we are nearly through this section of the Ruins. There is no sense in stopping now."

Grandt grinned. "You just want to see me solve more puzzles, don't you?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny your theory."

He snorted. "Right, right… Taking the coward's way out."

Toriel simply grinned.

"Well, then…" He turned to a nearby doorway and lifted a finger. "That's the way forward, right? Lead us onward."

"Very well." Toriel stepped over to the exit and looked back at him. "Let us see how well you can 'solve' what comes next."

So once again, the two of them left for the next chamber of the Ruins. But as they walked away, Grandt could have sworn that he saw that silhouette again out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

It was a beautiful evening. The full moon hung in the sky so graciously, and the disciple couldn't help but smile at the way it lit up the night. His smiles were all the same smile, just as the moon was always the same moon. His eyes shined in the darkness, allowing him to see his surroundings with ease.

 _Beautiful as always,_ he thought. _Nights like this were made for dreams._

But he couldn't sleep. Not because he was frightened, of course, because nothing scared the disciple. No, he was too anxious to sleep, to allow himself the comfort of unconscious dreams. His hand kept slipping into his pocket, onto his phone, and checking it endlessly.

"Patience," he told his hand. " _Patience_."

 _Caldwell will call soon enough. He is not one to wait. Not where I am concerned._

And he was a very, very patient man – the sort of man whose patience allowed for him to become a disciple. The sort of man who could stand in the rain and watch another man take shelter. But of course, rain was nothing, in the end. It was just water, and while water could damage stories, it would not damage him. Rain was nothing compared to the test of time.

The disciple leaned up against a rock and checked his phone again. It was nearly three in the morning, and Caldwell had heard nothing. No, of course not. He would wait for Blight to give it a proper announcement. It was only fair, he supposed, because otherwise there was no way to know whether that stupid old man would truly be willing to return to this place.

But what a place it was. He could see Ebott from his perch: rotting buildings and wasted materials. It was a village built for almost a hundred people, but it only housed four. What a waste. At least, it was a waste _now_. But that would not last forever. In only a few days, that village would become more valuable to him than any in Idyllia, and he felt his smile grow a bit at the idea.

It grew with the moon. It lived and died with the moon. Because after all, what was he if not the moon in human form? The lune of heaven, born for one reason and one reason alone. And he would fulfill it, of course. He was so close now.

So very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, _very_ close.

Something stirred within him, and he chuckled as he touched his chest. "Don't fret," he said. "It won't be long."

And then – as if to pierce the night's tranquility – he suddenly heard a shout come from somewhere nearby. "Hey! Hey, who's out there?! Is anyone out there?!"

The disciple stiffened. He recognized the voice, somewhat, but he couldn't quite place it. Where had he heard it before? Was it from the village, or was it from somewhere else entirely?

He looked around for a moment. Then he noticed something nearby – a hole in the side of the mountain, heading somewhere he could not see. Of course, it must have been an animal's burrow or something equally innocuous, but something told him otherwise. He looked a bit closer.

"Well, now…" he said, staring deep into it. The moon was at his back. "What is this?"

He could see _something_ inside. It was… brick, perhaps? But the bricks were purple.

 _How strange. But then… Who is that in the middle?_

The cry came again. It was old and somewhat deep, but there was little power behind it this time. It seemed as though the shouter had lost his nerve. "Wh-Who's there?! Come on! I can see you! Who's–?!"

And yet, the disciple _knew_ this man. He could not see his face clearly because he was too far away, but he'd seen him before. First over a decade ago, and then so recently in the village.

 _Yes, that's right._

His smile slid up his face until it became like a crescent moon – bright and wide and sharp. His teeth didn't shine like his eyes did, but that hardly mattered. His eyes had widened until they were like a pair of moons.

" _Major Grandt Journa_ …" He could feel the words slide over his tongue, over his teeth, over his _everything_. His fingers crackled with magic.

 _And who is that_ with _you, Major?_

Not that gunner from the village of course, nor did it look like that drunkard. No, it was taller than them, and stranger as well. It was not a beast, but it resembled one from what he could see of it in the darkness. It seemed as though it could not see him, given that its eyes never once left the major's face. It bore an expression of… fear, was it? Or perhaps concern? Regardless, it was strange how such a bestial creature could feel – or at very least, express – emotions at all.

Then the disciple realized exactly what it was. His smile couldn't get any wider, so instead he simply opted to let out a quiet laugh.

 _Strange company you keep, Major! Very strange company. And yet, you certainly know how to make things interesting, don't you? Very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very,_ very _interesting._

He stepped away from that spot. Of course, normally he would have cared that the major had seen him, but why bother? It was so dark that only the disciple's eyes could be seen. Even if that were not the case, the mountain was protected by such a powerful barrier that nothing could leave. And of course, the disciple knew that the major was a Journa, and an old one, at that. Like all Journas, his heart would soon shatter, and he would die. What difference did it make that the major had seen him? Had seen a _part_ of him? There was no scenario in which it mattered at all.

And yet, the fact that _the disciple_ had seen _the major_ … That was a different matter entirely. Ebott's meager population of four had decreased by one. Now all that remained were Frisk Journa, Kira Volver, and Dyson Welles. A child, a gunner, and a drunkard. They would be easy pickings if he were so willing, and yet…

He sighed and leaned back. His smile dropped away, becoming replaced by a more neutral expression. _But there would be no true purpose in that. Certainly, it could provide me with some entertainment, but then what?_

He could possibly justify killing the drunkard and the gunner, but the girl was a valuable bargaining chip. She was too important for him to let her die right now, even if he was fully willing to kill her if the situation called for it. But then again, killing _anyone_ in the village would cause him problems. It would leave the village completely empty and unguarded.

Blight's forces would be able to take Ebott without any trouble whatsoever, and that would only prove to be troublesome in the future. They needed something to stand against them, even if it was only a pair of stupid adults and one very stupid child. They would almost certainly become paranoid, otherwise. They would believe the lack of resistance to be some sort of trap. Of course, they _could_ believe that those three had long since left the village – well, those four, counting the major –, but he was not willing to take risks.

Not to mention that if the disciple made too much of a spectacle – or any sort of spectacle at all, really –, then there was a possibility that the emperor would learn that he existed, and he couldn't possibly have that. He ran the risk of having to contend with Idyllia's generals before he was fully prepared to face them. Certainly, he could kill any one of them with ease, but if they all converged on his position… Well, that would be undesirable, to put it mildly.

The disciple then touched his chest, just above his SOUL. "And of course," he said, "if I die, then so does my dream."

But then there was the mountain, and that fascinated him to no end. In the village, he risked alerting the emperor to his position, but in the mountain, there would be no such risk. The emperor and his generals would not chase him therein. It would be simple to go inside and to sate his bloodlust. So very simple.

His fingers twitched a bit. Magic crackled on his fingertips, and he felt his eyes grow brighter and more moonlike. Yes. It would be so simple to–

The disciple then bit down harshly on his knuckle to bring himself back to reality. _No, that will not do either,_ he thought.

Those who entered the mountain never left it. He would be trapped within, and he would certainly die down there. Not to mention that he had no way of knowing what sorts of beasts lay inside the mountain. He was powerful, yes, but he was not so arrogant to believe he was untouchable. If a human could kill him, then so could a monster.

So he let out a quiet sort of sigh, and then he allowed his smile return in a smaller state. No matter. That was fine. He could wait. He was a patient man, so of course he could wait. Disciples had to be patient.

His hand pulled his phone from his pocket. He checked it again, more out of habit this time than out of anxiety. Caldwell still had yet to respond. But that was fine. The disciple had other means of entertaining himself while he waited.

The disciple replaced his phone and reached into his bag, from which he pulled out a thick, leather-bound book. The silver flower on the cover reminded him so greatly of the moon above, and the black leather seemed to him to resemble the night sky.

He sat with his back pressed up against a dry rock and admired it further. The book had been difficult to acquire, but it had been so very, _very_ worth it. Soon it would show him what he was always meant to see, and then…

 _And then,_ he thought, and his smile curved back into a crescent, _I will fulfill our dreams at last._

* * *

 **AN: Hey, everyone. I'm back.**

 **I can't pretend that I spent the last three months on this one chapter (because if I had, we'd already be out of the Ruins by now - or at least, we'd be damn close to it), but my workload simply hasn't allowed for it. I've either been too busy or too tired to sit down and write anything good, or at least passable by my standards. I'm hoping that this chapter will help me get back into the swing of things at least a little bit.**

 **In any case, this is yet another character development chapter where absolutely nothing of relevance to the plot occurs. Also something about some weird mountain guy, but he's probably unimportant. That book's also unimportant. I wasted half the chapter on filler text.**

 **Yep.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read the story up to this point! Next time, Grandt and Toriel will continue their Ruins adventures, and I will absolutely get the update out by next Tuesday.**


	26. Chapter 3-8

Toriel had to admit that her feelings on Grandt Journa were rather… mixed. He was a kind man, she could not deny that. Anyone who was willing to sit beside her and share in her pain was somebody she was willing to respect. And he had, of course, adjusted to the Underground far better than any of the children had before him.

But then again, that was not saying much. He was clearly going through an emotional breakdown. He was trying so hard to hide it, to act strong, but it was obvious that he could not possibly keep the act up for too much longer. Even now, cracks were starting to show in his mask. The way he had screamed at the moon only reinforced that in her mind.

But what was she to say? Should she ask him what he saw?

Toriel stole a quick glance over at Grandt. He was staring at the puzzle ahead – a simple thing consisting of a cracked floor and a pair of vents on the walls. There was a far-off look in his eyes, and one of his hands was rested against his chin . Perhaps it was simply the look of a man who wanted to break this puzzle in two. Perhaps she was simply being paranoid, and yet… And yet she could not shake the feeling that Grandt looked much more tired than he had before. She could almost still see the moonlight in his eyes. It made him seem older, somehow.

 _I can ask him. I should ask him. There is no reason to keep quiet._

Yes, that was right, was it not? She should ask him. Maybe it would help to get it off his mind. Maybe it would keep the moonlight out of his eyes.

Yes. Yes, that had to be right.

"Grandt–"

"I've got it!" he declared suddenly, and the moonlight went away. "I think I've figured this puzzle out!"

Toriel blinked. _Wait, was he not thinking about that silhouette at all?_

She had never seen him think so seriously about something before – the only time he had "solved" a puzzle alongside her, he had not stopped to really think about it all that much –, so she supposed it made sense that the stance he had just made was his way of thinking things through. Even so, did that mean he had stopped thinking about the silhouette completely? Or was he simply pretending that it did not bother him?

 _But if he is not thinking about it anymore, then it would be a bad idea to bring it up again._ _If he truly has stopped thinking about it so much, then I should not ask what he saw. Not right now, at least._

Maybe she could ask later when he did not look so excited. Yes, that would be good. There was always the option to ask later.

Grandt looked over at her, and then he pointed to the vents on the side. "Toriel, do those vents connect at all?"

Putting those thoughts aside, Toriel could not help but smirk a bit. "Well, yes," she said. "I suppose you could say that."

"Good, good!" Grandt grinned. "So then I'll climb in that vent, and then–"

"You will solve the puzzle correctly," Toriel finished, unable to keep her smirk hidden anymore.

Grandt blinked. His smile drooped a bit at the corners. "Eh? Wait, are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

"Damn."

Toriel winced slightly. She was no stranger to crude language – not at all, really –, but Grandt swore somewhat more than she would have liked. Most of the children who had fallen down had not used such language. Then again, Grandt was not a child.

 _Not a child at all,_ she thought as her eyes passed to his wrinkled and liver-spot-covered head. He was clearly very old. If Toriel had to guess, she would estimate that he was probably in his middle or late eighties, but he was probably no younger or older than that. For a man of his age to climb Mt. Ebott and to survive falling into the Underground… He must have been quite the soldier when he still served.

"And here I thought I was being clever…" Grandt pressed his hand back against his chin.

Toriel chuckled. "Well, you certainly are, Grandt. Most of the others did not realize how to solve the puzzle until they fell down."

"Fell down?" Grandt looked at the cracked floor in front of him. "So this area _does_ collapse?"

"What, did you think it would not?"

Grandt grinned. "I thought the puzzle was just to walk to the other side of the room."

Toriel crossed her arms. "Not _all_ of these puzzles are as… What was that phrase you used? 'Opening a ketchup bottle'?"

Something seemed to stir in his eyes. "Yeah. That's the one."

He was quiet for a moment, and then he looked back at Toriel and cracked his knuckles. "So… Guess I'll have to find another way to solve this thing, huh?"

"If you think there is another way, I welcome you to try." Toriel paused. "However, I think this puzzle shall be a good deal more difficult to 'solve' than the last one."

"There's _always_ another way to solve problems." Grandt examined the floor. "For example… What if I were to cross this thing without falling down?"

Toriel blinked. "That area of the floor is two meters long."

"Yeah, it sure looks like it. That's… What? Six feet?" He took a few steps back, and then he fell into a runner's squat. His knees cracked audibly. "Y'know, back in high school, I was the star of the track team."

"Really?"

Grandt grinned. "Nope."

Then he took off running. He was not particularly fast, Toriel noted, but he was much faster than she had originally thought – certainly much faster than a man his age should have been. His foot hit the point where the real and fake floors met, and he suddenly jumped with a surprising amount of force behind his legs.

For a moment, Grandt seemed to be soaring over the cracked floor. His eyes were brighter than Toriel had ever seen them. It was not the moon that shone in his eyes now; it was the _sun_ , bright and bold and reflecting his grin in such a way that the moon never could.

Then the illusion faded, and Grandt landed on the cracked floor not terribly far away from the other side. The floor began to collapse immediately, and Grandt let out a shocked cry.

Toriel winced at the sight. He had been so close, and for a moment, she had wanted to see him clear the gap. But it seemed that Grandt really _was_ just too old to manage it.

Then she blinked. _Wait…_

Grandt had not fallen through at all. Yes, his body had gone through the floor, but his arms were set on the opposing ledge. His fingernails dug deep into the ground, and he was panting harshly.

But he had _made_ it.

"It's…" He looked over at her from where he now hung and gave a weak smile. "It's a bit… a bit h-hard to keep my grip… Maybe you should look into that."

She smiled, but it felt a bit strained. This man… "Very well, Grandt. You have proven your point." She looked down. "The ground should only be a few inches below your feet. You will not be injured if you let go."

Grandt shook his head, but the action looked a bit difficult.

* * *

It wasn't about just solving some silly puzzle. Not really. If that were the case, he'd just hang on for as long as he could and then tease Toriel about it later (something like, "A man as old as me almost cleared this thing easily! What's your excuse?" Just lighthearted joking).

But this wasn't about that.

This was a test of his resolve. Of his _willpower_.

 _And of my upper body strength,_ he thought with a small grin as it got harder to breathe. _Ugh… Should've taken Dyse up on those offers to work out together…_

Then he let his smile fall, and he focused on the task at hand.

The Underground was a dangerous place. God knew there were more dangerous things in store than some damned wall. But if he couldn't climb a wall, how could he expect to deal with things like that flower

 _Crack._

or anything else he hadn't seen?

No, he _had_ to climb it. He _would_ climb it. His fingers dug deeper into the floor, his breath became quicker, his heart beat faster in his chest.

 _Too fast._

Grandt breathed in slowly. Then he pushed his hand forward a bit. It was just a little bit, but it was enough to make him lose his grip for a moment. His other hand slid back a bit. He gasped in pain as his nails raked against stone. They were probably all broken and cut up by now. His fingers probably looked like a mess.

 _It's fine. It's fine, don't worry about it. It's fine. Just keep holding on._

They dug into the stone. They dug into the snow.

 _Stop it. Don't think about it._

How much would they bleed if they broke? His fingernails. Or maybe his fingers. Or his arms. How much would they bleed again? Would his bones stick out again?

 _Stop it. Just stop. It's over. It's over!_

He was breathing

 _too fast._

 _Crack._

Grandt gasped. And he lost his grip. His fingers slid back on the floor and his nails cracked as they attempted to find their grip.

But just as he was about to completely lose his grip, he stopped falling.

Because Toriel had taken his hand.

* * *

It was strange, really. Toriel did not know what had propelled her to act like that. It was not as if Grandt was in danger of injuring himself if he fell or anything like that.

But without thinking at all, she had gone through to the other side and taken his hand. There was just some part of her that did not want to see him fall. Was it just because he was a kind man? Was it because she sympathized with his situation?

No, both of those were true. She _knew_ that both of those things were true. This, however… This was brought on by something else. Toriel could not even begin to describe it, and she was someone who had lived long enough that she knew she should have felt something similar before. It was not love or compassion or pity or hope or anything of the sort. It was something else entirely.

It was something strange.

But even with that strangeness, she had taken Grandt's hand in her own.

"Give me your other hand," she told him quietly.

Odd. She could reach it from where she was perched without any difficulty. Why did she want him to give it to her?

Grandt stared. He was silent for a few moments, and his eyes were filled with a range of emotions from disbelief to shock. "Why?"

"Why?" And Toriel chuckled. "Why, indeed? Why does anybody ever do anything?"

"Toriel–"

"Give me your other hand, Grandt."

He stared at her for a moment, and then he smiled. It brought that brightness back to his eyes – that sunniness. For just a moment, he looked like he'd become several decades younger. His head was still wrinkled and his covered with liver spots, but his overall demeanor had completely changed.

And then he lifted his hand, and he gave it to her.

And she accepted it.

Moments later, Grandt was kneeling on the floor. His oldness had returned. His breath sounded heavy and labored. The veins in his hands seemed more pronounced and redder than before. His nails were cracked, and his fingers were bleeding.

But he had made it. He was smiling, and there was no moonlight to be found in his eyes.

Then he pushed himself back to his feet. He wobbled about for a moment, as though he was not used to standing on his legs anymore. He steadied himself suddenly, and his smile went from triumphant to warm.

"Toriel… Thank you."

Again it was strange, but those were the only words she needed. Those words and the warmness and brightness in his eyes.

So she smiled back. "Of course." Then she allowed her smile to become a bit more mischievous. "But that will be the only free one I will give you."

Grandt chuckled, which then turned into coughing. "Y-yeah." He pressed a hand against his chest. "Thank God…"

"Grandt? Are you alright?"

He shook his head. "I… Just a moment, if that's okay."

"Take as much time as you need to. I am in no rush." She meant it.

"Thank you." Grandt pressed his back up against one of the walls and slid down to the floor. "Sorry about that."

"About what?"

"About… You know, about making you… about making you waste your time to help a doddering old man like me." He grinned, but his voice was still shaky. "I mean you'd… you'd probably be home by now if I wasn't here."

"Maybe," Toriel admitted, "but I do not regret it. I am having a lot of fun."

Grandt smiled and closed his eyes. "Yeah… Yeah, me too…"

His head slowly fell forward.

Toriel blinked. "Grandt?"

There was no response. Toriel almost panicked until she noticed the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

 _Ah… I see._

She smiled a bit. Grandt's hands were torn and his nails were ripped, but he had fallen asleep with a small smile on his lips. A triumphant smile, as though what had just happened had been a major victory.

Toriel sat down beside him and let her smile grow. "You certainly are something, Major Grandt…" she said softly.

And then she recalled what that feeling from before had been. She had felt it once before. Fourteen years ago, to be exact, when that girl had fallen into the Underground. When she had pledged to bring humans and monsters together. When she had worn a smile that was as kind as Grandt's. Anyone else would have called this feeling hope, but Toriel knew they were not synonymous.

Hope required faith. It required a _belief_ that something would happen. But this feeling was not a belief; it was a certainty. It was a certainty in the same way that Toriel knew the sun would rise in the morning, even if she could not see it.

It had been a long time since she had met a human with that much determination to do anything. It sent a shiver through her whole body, and with it came that odd not-hope. A kind of determination of her own. It was almost intoxicating. She did not even know what had brought this determination out of him, but she had no doubt that it was something he sought more strongly than anything else in the world.

She continued to watch Grandt as he slept. Should she take him back to her home, now? It would be easy to carry him back. The smaller monsters would not bother them – but then again, they would not bother them, anyway. They were too shy for it, but now she longed for them to meet with Grandt, as well. To let them share in that not-hope, that determination.

 _But if I bring him back,_ she thought as her lips curled up into a smirk, _he will probably be frustrated that he could not break more puzzles. He will probably say something like, "How could you not let me prove you wrong?" or something like that._

Just lighthearted joking.

Toriel chuckled. She could wait there for just a bit longer. After all, she was starting to feel a bit tired, herself. Her eyes had begun drooping. How long had she been so exhausted? And how had she not noticed it? Maybe all that determination had gotten her a bit too excited. Little wonder that humans invoked it so rarely.

She yawned and leaned back against the wall. Yes, this would be fine. And it was not as if she could keep herself awake even if she tried, anyway.

Before she could think of anything else, Toriel felt her eyes close, and she fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

* * *

 **AN: This is another short one for two reasons: first, I've once again been struggling to find time to sit down and write (I'm honestly surprised I was able to get this out at all), and second, I can't imagine continuing this update passed the point where I chose to end it off. I wish I could've gotten Grandt and Toriel a bit further through the Ruins since this arc is taking much longer than I thought it would, but compared to Snowdin, it's actually not too bad. I can't tell if that's a good thing or not.**

 **Probably not.**

 **Anyway, this chapter was incredibly fun to write. I originally debated whether or not I wanted Grandt to be able to climb the wall by himself or not, but I decided to have Toriel help him up because it made for a more heartwarming scene. Not to mention that it actually makes me really excited to keep writing since I've already got a pretty good idea about how the next few chapters are going to look.**

 **(Fun fact about this chapter: I spent the entire time writing it listening to music from _NieR: Automata._ Holy _shit_ that's good soundtrack. I honestly can't recommend it enough.)**

 **(Another fun fact about this chapter: I swear to God I don't ship Grandt with anybody.)**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read the story up to this point! Next time, more Ruins shenanigans will ensue. I might get through two rooms in a single update. That probably won't happen. Regardless, however, I'll see you all on Tuesday** **.**


	27. Chapter 3-9

" _You need to apologize to Warren."_

 _Those were the first words Grandt said the next time he saw Relef. Relef was sitting on the dusty barracks floor, back up against his bedside. There was an old book in his hands, but it didn't look like he was reading it too closely. Instead, there was a glazed-over look in his eyes, and Grandt suddenly realized that he had been sleeping._

" _About what?"_

" _About what you said to him earlier." Then when Relef continued to stare at him blankly, Grandt added, "About his book."_

" _Christ… You kidding me?" Relef closed his book. "Look, I just said I didn't wanna read it. That's all."_

" _We both know that's not all that you did."_

 _It was a credit to Grandt that he wasn't shouting at Relef right then. The words that came out were spoken with a sort of measured calm, but inside, he was seething._

" _Fine. I said it's a children's book, okay? That's what it is." Relef stood up. He was a full head taller than Grandt, but his lack of visible muscles kept him from being intimidating at all. "Look, it doesn't fuckin' matter. It's not like I hurt him or anything, right? Just made fun of his stupid story." He sighed. "It's not my fault if he got pissy about it."_

 _Grandt's eyes narrowed. "That's not what I'm talking about."_

" _Hm?"_

" _Relef." Grandt's voice was shaking with contained anger. "Where are the pages you ripped out?"_

 _And Relef suddenly went pale. It was a bit bizarre, given that he was already somewhat pale because of how much time he spent inside, but now the blood had completely flowed out of his face._

" _Shit."_

 _Grandt crossed his arms like he was a parent admonishing a small child. Instead of an army captain admonishing one of his soldiers._

 _Relef grit his teeth. "Look, I–"_

" _Don't," Grandt said. "I'm not here to gather 'your side of the story' because short of you telling me that Warren_ asked _you to tear those pages out, it's not gonna help your case."_

" _It's just a_ book _!" Relef's fingers crackled with lightning. "He kept shoving the damn thing in my face, so I–"_

" _What did I just say?!" Grandt shouted back, and Relef winced. "This is inexcusable behavior, Private. This is something I'd expect a_ child _to do, not someone who's supposed to be an adult!"_

" _If he'd just left me alone–"_

" _Relef!"_

 _Relef went silent. He refused to meet Grandt's eyes._

" _I'm disappointed in you," Grandt continued. "I don't think I've ever been_ more _disappointed in you than I am right now. Warren's supposed to be your comrade! He's someone you should be treating with respect!"_

" _He's just a kid!"_

 _Grandt blinked and went silent. Relef had never yelled like that before, never looked so angry._

" _He's just a kid," Relef said again. His eyes turned to the floor. "He shouldn't be here. He's not ready for it. Not ready to fight anyone."_

" _You've seen him fight before."_

" _Yeah, and he's damn good at it." Relef shook his head. "But that's sparring. That's easy stuff. You give a kid a wooden sword and tell him to hit you, he'll do it. Because he knows it won't kill you. Because he knows you can take it." He looked over at Warren's bed – at the plain covers, the plain pillow, the plain everything. "But what if the sword's metal? What if you tell him to hit someone else? You think he'll still do it if he knows the other person's gonna die?"_

 _Grandt stared at him for a moment. "Are you being serious with me, or are you just saying this to get out of being punished?"_

" _Doesn't really matter. It's true either way." Relef walked over to his bed and sat down. His bedding was gray. "He's too young for this shit. He could be the best swordsman in the world or the most efficient magician, and he'd still be too young."_

" _He's seen a lot of bad things in his life, Relef."_

" _So have a lot of people. You think he's the only one Winterfell fucked over?" Relef opened his book again. "No, of course not. Maybe he got the worst of it, but that doesn't change anything. Just because you've seen people die, that doesn't mean you're ready to go out and see it again."_

" _It shouldn't."_

"… _yeah." Relef paused and continued to read. "Look, Captain, I'm not saying that Warren's a bad kid. I'm just saying that he isn't ready for this."_

" _Is_ anyone _ready for this?" Grandt asked. "Are_ you _ready?"_

 _Relef was quiet for a moment. "No. No, of course not. But still," he added, "I'm at least more ready to fight than he is. Have you seen the way he talks to everyone around here?"_

" _No, I haven't."_

" _Exactly. Because he doesn't." Relef leaned back against the wall and leafed through his book for a moment. "He doesn't talk to anyone but you. He's scared of Shord, he hates me, and I don't even know how he feels about Fain." Then he suddenly snapped his book shut. "Does that sound like someone who's ready for combat? No. It sounds like a kid. Like someone who's too socially immature to be trusted with a sword or a gun or whatever the hell else he wants to use."_

" _I understand what you're saying, but–"_

" _No you don't!" Relef snapped. "You don't get it at all, do you? And that's the problem." He shook his head. "He's a child, Captain. He may be physically on par with some adults – hell, I'll agree that he's better than many of 'em –, but emotionally? Mentally? Socially?"_

 _Grandt was silent._

 _Relef looked down and shifted the book in his hands. "I'm not gonna apologize about ripping those pages out," he said. "Because I meant it. I still mean it. I'm not gonna tell you where I hid 'em, either."_

 _Grandt narrowed his eyes. "Relef–"_

" _I'm gonna give him back the pages," Relef said, cutting Grandt off, "but only when he can come and ask me for them himself. When the day comes that he can come up to me and say, 'Hey, asshole, give them back,' without flinching or crying or anything like that…_ Then _I'll agree that he's not a kid anymore."_

" _And if he doesn't?"_

" _Then I'll keep 'em forever." Relef shrugged. "Fact is, the kid needs to learn how to fight his own battles. He can't expect you to help him out forever. Especially not with your condition."_

 _Grandt let out a sigh. "It's not your place to decide these things."_

" _Yeah. I know. But if you don't mind me being blunt, you're doing a pretty shitty job of it."_

 _Silence._

 _Then Grandt turned around and faced the door. "Look, I get what you're doing."_

" _What am I doing?"_

" _You're acting smart to get out of trouble."_

 _Relef was known for that. He'd break a rule or disrespect Grandt's authority, and then he'd claim it was part of some elaborate plan to help everyone out in some way. It was something he'd done ever since he was a child. It was something that he'd probably do forever, or at least until it stopped working for him. Then he'd move on to something else, find some other way to get out of being responsible for his actions._

" _You said that before. And no, I'm not." He could hear Relef reopen his book. "Say whatever you want, but it doesn't make a difference. Warren's too young to fight. That's what I believe, and you're not gonna change that." A pause. "If you're gonna punish me, then fine. But I'm not gonna turn my back on what I believe just because you wanna coddle him a bit more."_

" _Alright. Fine." Grandt didn't look back at him. He turned his eyes to the floor and locked them there against the stone pattern. "I'll… consider what you've just told me. But I can't make Warren leave. That's not my place."_

" _You're his commanding officer. It's absolutely your place."_

" _That's not what I mean." Grandt's hands tightened into fists. "It's his choice to continue or not. Not mine. Sure, I can discharge him from my ranks, but that won't change anything. He'll just run off into the mountains again and get himself killed."_

 _Relef didn't say anything. It seemed that he wasn't able to come up with a counterargument. Even if they tried to hold him, Warren would just find some way to escape the city again. Then he'd show up several years later and demand to join the army._

 _Just like last time._

" _Fine." Relef sighed. "Do whatever the hell you want. I've made my case. It's not like I can stop you, anyway."_

 _Grandt nodded. He stepped towards the door and reached for the handle when Relef spoke again:_

" _But just remember this, Captain: if anything happens to him out on the battlefield – he gets scarred or crippled or killed –, that's gonna be on your head. You won't have anyone to blame but yourself."_

 _The door opened._

" _If you all do your jobs and keep each other safe," Grandt said as he stepped outside, "then neither of us will have to worry about that."_

 _But that night as Grandt tried to fall asleep, he couldn't help but replay Relef's words in his head again and again. Even if Relef had been cruel about it, Grandt couldn't pretend that he didn't have a point. Warren was a child. Even with all he'd seen and experienced – no,_ because _he had seen and experienced all of it –, he was very nervous and quiet. Could someone like that truly survive on the battlefield? Did Grandt_ want _him to?_

 _And then there were those words Warren had said only a few hours ago: "Fighting's easy. Talking's the hard part."_

 _Maybe Relef had gotten everything wrong. Maybe Warren's problem wasn't that he was too young. Maybe it was that he'd never really had a chance to be young at all._

* * *

Grandt woke up, and for the first time in days (at least, insofar as days meant anything to him), he felt surprisingly refreshed. His bones cracked, of course, but his mind wasn't particularly sluggish.

He stood up slowly, stumbling a bit as he got back to his feet. He pressed a hand against the cool brick wall to steady himself, but it wasn't really necessary because his legs moved back into position on their own.

The sleep cleared from his eyes, and Grandt looked around the room. The floor was still cracked and there were still those vents on the walls, just like before. Then, suddenly remembering what had happened before he'd lost consciousness, Grandt turned his eyes to his hands.

His fingertips were cut and caked with dried blood and dirt. They'd stopped bleeding, thankfully, but the wounds still existed. Grandt touched his left thumb and middle finger together experimentally and winced at the pain. It wasn't too bad. Not like when his legs had been crushed or when Blight had put a bullet through his cheek. It was more like a paper cut. Just a bit of pain.

He could handle that.

Grandt blinked, then. _Wait,_ he thought, _where's Toriel?_

She'd been with him when he'd fallen asleep, so where was she now? She hadn't just gone off and left him alone, had she? Grandt looked around the room again. No, he couldn't see her anywhere. Where was she?

Maybe she'd gone off somewhere else because she didn't want to wait for him to wake up. That made sense. Even someone as patient as Toriel probably got tired – pun not intended – of waiting for an old man like him to stop wasting her time.

Grandt sighed and pressed his back up against the wall. _I shouldn't be this arrogant. Shouldn't be like Relef,_ he thought. _She's probably got important things to take care of. Maybe she's gone back to see if anyone else has fallen down._

And then he thought, _I hope nobody else has fallen down._

It wasn't because he didn't want anyone else to experience the Underground for themselves or because he thought it was particularly dangerous. The only dangerous thing he'd really come across was that flower – and Sans, of course, but he hardly counted him as being actively dangerous –, so that couldn't be it. He just didn't want anyone else to get stuck without a way out. He just didn't want anyone else to become isolated from their loved ones just because they made one stupid decision.

Grandt shook his head. _No, now's not the time to think like this. But…_ He looked over at the room's exit. _Should I leave now? If Toriel's gone back, then I should probably wait for her, right? I don't know this place well enough to make any major decisions._

Not to mention the part that disturbed him the most: the fact that he'd first met that flower in the Ruins. That flower was probably lurking somewhere around the area, and Grandt wanted nothing more than to avoid him no matter what. The last thing he needed was to

 _Crack._

to have to do everything over again.

Grandt rubbed his forehead. "Right…" he muttered. "But what should I _do_ …?"

He used to be good at making decisions. Somewhere along the line, he'd just lost that ability. Nowadays he was climbing mountains he had no right to climb and running after murderers without two working legs. Maybe it was because he was getting so old, or maybe it was because he'd never really needed to do anything too important back in Ebott. He just sat around, made food, spent time teaching Frisk how to read and write and how to do basic mathematics. Just things that an old man like him could still manage.

But knowing where to go and how to get there? Sure, he could follow a straight line, but what if the path split? Or what if something happened and he froze up again?

What if he wasted all of his time on what ifs?

 _Relef never wasted time like that,_ he reminded himself. _He always made decisions. He never hesitated like this. He always knew what to do._

 _No he didn't,_ another part of him shot back. _He was just good at pretending. And he knew how to make the best of a bad situation._

Grandt looked between the two doorways again. Forward and back, back and forward. Toriel could be down either of them, but did that matter? Did he really _need_ Toriel in order to know where to go? Did he really need anyone?

 _You would've fallen without her. You couldn't climb that wall on your own._ His thoughts pushed hard against his mind. _You can't get out of here on your own. You're too old. Just like how Warren was too young to understand anything, you're too old to_ do _anything._

He smacked his hand against his forehead. "No!"

His cry echoed off the walls, the floor, the ceiling. It echoed throughout the room and struck him back in his eardrums. It was like an answer to his own question. Could he escape the Underground on his own?

 _I–_

"Grandt?"

Grandt blinked, and a feeling of relief washed over him. Then immediately after that came a feeling of regret, anger, and self-loathing – the kinds of feelings of a man who'd instantly realized his own own arrogance.

He turned to look at Toriel, who now stood on the other side of the crumbled floor, in the doorway leading to the room with the moon and the silhouette.

 _Guess I was right,_ he thought to himself.

Toriel smiled over at him. "I am sorry," she said. "I woke up not too long ago and decided to determine the time." She glanced behind her. "The sun is not up yet, so I suppose it must be very early in the morning."

"Yeah," he said. That was really all he could bring himself to say.

"Here," Toriel said, and she started walking toward the vent. "I will be over there shortly."

A moment later, she'd entered the vent and crossed over to the other side of the room, emerging without any fanfare. She walked over to Grandt and looked him over for a moment, as though something about him seemed odd to her.

"Are you feeling alright, Grandt?" she asked. "You look tired. Did you not get enough rest?"

"Uh…" Grandt rubbed the back of his head. "No. No, I'm fine. I should be okay."

That was such a blatant lie he was surprised Toriel didn't call him out on it. Instead, she just looked down at his cut and bloodied fingers.

"We should probably wash and dress those wounds," she said.

"I'm sure they'll be fine," Grandt said, chuckling. "I was a soldier, remember? I've had worse injuries than these." He tapped his thumb and middle finger together. There was only the slightest amount of pain remaining. "I think I should be fine for a while."

Toriel frowned. "Still, it would be best to take care of them now to keep them from becoming infected."

Grandt stared down at the wounds for a moment. They were small things, but Toriel was right. His body was too old to really fight off any major diseases anymore. Hell, he still remembered the time that Ledger had been forced to take care of him because he'd contracted the common cold.

He frowned and bit down on his lower lip. _She's right. I should take care of this now. If I don't, it could become even worse._

So why did he have to wait for Toriel to tell him that? It should've been obvious. But she had to help him out again. Help him with wounds he'd only obtained because he was too arrogant to just do things the right way. Just like always.

"Thank you," he said. He was wearing a fake smile. "I definitely should take care of that, right?"

Toriel pressed a hand against her chin. "There is water in some of the previous rooms. Do you want to–?"

Go back.

Go _back_.

That's what she was going to say next, and those two words made Grandt's heart tighten up in his chest. He didn't have time to go back. It wasn't worth it.

 _Of course it's worth it. You're not gonna keel over just because you took a few minutes to clean yourself off. You're not gonna die if you make Toriel stop worrying about you._

 _She shouldn't be worrying about me at all. I'm not worth it._

 _Stop thinking like that! You need to focus on what's actually important, and that's getting out of this place._

 _How can I get out of here if I can't even climb a wall without someone else's help?_

 _That's–_

Grandt's thoughts were cut off when he felt Toriel place a hand on his shoulder. "Are you certain you are feeling well?" she asked.

His fake smile felt thinner, somehow. "Yeah, I–"

"Grandt. Please do not lie to me."

It dropped completely, then. He stepped over to the wall and pressed his back up against it again. Then, slowly – very slowly, in fact –, Grandt let out a quiet sigh.

"I'm tired, Toriel."

She stepped over to him. "I can tell," she said. "You look exhausted."

"Yeah." Grandt closed his eyes again. Part of him wanted to just go back to sleep. "I guess I am. Honestly, I just… I just don't know what to do."

"About what?"

"About anything, really." Grandt grimaced. "I mean, look at me, Toriel. I'm hardly the most put-together guy out there. I screamed at a silhouette, for God's sake!" He let out another sigh. "I feel like I'm just totally lost. Like I know where I wanna go, but I don't have a single clue how to get there."

"Why do you feel that way?" Toriel asked.

"Because…"

Grandt felt the words choke his throat. They got stuck there for a moment, and then he opened his eyes and stepped away from the wall.

"Because I can't do anything! Because I can't do anything on my own!" He ran a hand over his forehead, felt the dried blood run across his face. "I can't… I can't get anything done without help! _Anything_! Anything at all!"

He breathed in sharply. "And I hate it. I hate feeling like… like some kind of _burden_ to everyone. I hate that I'm so _useless_!"

On that last word, he turned around and punched his hand into the wall. It was hard enough that he could hear his knuckles crack, and it was sharp enough that he could feel blood running down his hands. He could hear Toriel breathe in sharply.

He pulled his hand away. It was shaking. His fingers throbbed and twitched in pain. Everything was wet. Just like

 _Crack._

like

 _Crack._

like

 _Cra_

 _stopstopstopstopSTOP_

like before.

Grandt pressed his other hand up against the wall. "And I hate that I keep wasting your time by being such a stupid, stupid, _stupid_ idiot."

"Grandt, you are not–"

"I am, though." He chuckled bitterly. "I mean, look at me! You should be home by now, but we keep stopping because I just can't go ten minutes without busting out some 'woe is me' crap." Grandt pressed his forehead against the wall. "I'm just such a mess…"

Toriel stepped over to him. "Grandt," she said. "Grandt! Look at me."

He turned his head towards her slowly.

"You are not an idiot," she told him. "Do you understand that? You are not an idiot."

"But I–"

Toriel placed her hands on his shoulders. "I do not care what you think about yourself because I _know_ that you are a good man. You are not an idiot, and you are certainly not a burden." Her eyes drifted down to his bloody hand for a moment. "Anyone who is willing to sit beside me – to share in my troubles, to tell me that I can cry as much as I want – cannot possibly be burden."

"That's not what I want, though," Grandt said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just… I just want to be able to do things for myself. I have to be able to do things on my own." He lifted his bloody hand up slowly. "Otherwise, I… How will I ever be able to leave this place?"

Toriel paused. "… you want to leave the Underground?"

"I have to. It's never been a question of wanting to stay here or not." Grandt closed his eyes again. He didn't feel behind his eyelids daggers, but he felt something a bit similar. Needles, maybe. "Frisk's waiting for me to come home."

"Frisk?"

"My granddaughter," Grandt said. "I told her I'd be home by now. She's probably so scared right now…"

Toriel was quiet for a moment. "What about her parents?"

Grandt just shook his head.

"… oh. I-I am sorry."

"It's fine," Grandt said. The needles had become mere pinpricks. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known." He rubbed his forehead with his non-bloodied hand and reopened his eyes. "I just… I have to see her again. One last time. I have to make sure she's okay. I have to make sure she knows I'm sorry for leaving her all alone."

Then he turned his eyes to the ceiling. "I have to tell the others I'm sorry, too. The others in the village. And… I have to send a letter that I keep meaning to write."

"To whom?" Toriel asked.

"A friend of mine." Grandt paused. "No, not a friend… Well, I don't even know, anymore. I just know that I have to get some stuff off my chest."

"I could always send it for you," Toriel offered.

Grandt chuckled. "I don't think the postman comes to the Underground, Toriel."

"Of course not. But it could be good to at least write down what you want to say."

"I guess," Grandt said. "But still, all that stuff only matters if I can actually get out of here. And honestly," he added as he flexed the fingers on his bloody hand, "I'm starting to doubt that I can."

It wasn't that he was afraid of dying. No, that was a lie. Of course he was scared to die again. Why wouldn't he be? It wasn't exactly a pleasant process. But even if Grandt could try again and again and again…

He shook his head. "Even if I keep going, there's some things that I just can't do."

"You mean physically."

"Yeah. I'm too old to do a lot of things on my own, anymore."

"Aging is something that happens to everybody, Grandt," Toriel said. She shook her head a bit wistfully. "We all have to experience it one day. And then there will be a day when you cannot do the same things you once could. That is just how it is."

Grandt nodded. "Yeah, I know. I hate it, but I know." The pain in his hand had started to dull. "There used to be a time when I could go head-to-head with one of the most feared bandits in Idyllia. Nowadays, I can't even pull myself over a ledge."

"It is not a bad thing to be helped by others, you know."

Grandt stepped over to the doorway. "I know," he repeated. "And I mean, I didn't expect to be able to do everything by myself. I knew from the start that there'd be some things I'd need help with." He closed his eyes again. They were just hot, now. "I just wish I could do _anything_ on my own."

Toriel walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked over and met her eyes, and she gave a small smile. "You are very good at speaking."

"Maybe," Grandt said, "but anyone can talk if they want to. As long as you have some working vocal cords or a pen and paper or anything like that, you can talk." Then he touched his hand to the side of his head. "Talking's easy. Acting's the hard part."

"Talking is definitely _not_ easy," Toriel said. "Do you know how difficult it is to speak in front of a crowd?"

Grandt grimaced. "Sure, but that's different. That's public speaking. I mean just talking to someone else – walking up to another person and starting a conversation. Not giving a speech."

"Really? Because as far as I can tell, you can be quite motivational when you want to be." Toriel chuckled. "I would hardly call that 'just talking to someone else.' Even if it is not to a large crowd, a speech is a speech."

"I'd hardly say _anything_ out of my mouth is motivational," Grandt said. "And besides, even if it is, that's just because I used to be a military officer." He shook his head. "In that field, you've gotta know how to boost morale."

"You do not give yourself enough credit." Toriel touched a hand to the side of her neck. "You know, Grandt, I did not speak this way when I was younger."

He blinked. "Wait, really? What'd you used to talk like?"

"Like you, really." She grinned at his expression. "Do not look so shocked!"

Grandt flushed and rubbed the back of his head. "Ah… Sorry. I just can't really imagine it."

Toriel snorted. "Well, I did. But one day, I had to start giving public speeches. My career required them, you see."

"What was your job? Something in politics?"

"You could say that, yes." There was a small, wry smirk on her face. "Anyway, I taught myself how to enunciate my words more clearly to make myself more easily understood by my listeners. Eventually, I began to talk this way even when I was not speaking publically and…" She shrugged, and her smile became more genuine. "Well, here we are, I suppose."

"Alright…" Grandt said. "But – uh, pardon me for asking this; I know it's a bit rude – what's that got to do with me?"

"Allow me to put it this way," Toriel said. "Grandt, you are a far better speaker than I am or have ever been. Because unlike me, you speak genuinely and are still able to inspire hope in the people around you."

"I've 'inspired hope' in you _once_ ," Grandt pointed out.

At least, it'd only been once in _this_ timeline. He couldn't really speak too well about what had happened in any other timelines, given that he was the only one who remembered them.

"Mm… Twice, actually."

Grandt blinked. "Twice? When was the second time?"

That wry smile came back, but there was a wistfulness to it. "That hardly matters," Toriel said. "What is important is that you can inspire those around you without having to pretend to be someone else. And that – in my opinion, at least – is a far more valuable skill than being able to climb a ledge on your own. Especially if you can convince somebody to take your hand."

Grandt just stared at her for a moment, mouth agape and eyes wide. "Jesus… And you say you're not a good speaker?"

Toriel chuckled. "Well, I have had plenty of time to practice."

She wasn't serious, was she? He couldn't possibly be even half as motivational as she claimed he was. Maybe she was just trying to make him feel better about himself.

But then again, Toriel wasn't the sort of person who lied about things like that. Maybe she'd lie about something small every once in a while, but about something like a person's talents? That wasn't her.

 _But I've never considered myself to be somebody who inspires confidence in anyone._

 _Maybe that's because you've never even been confident in yourself._

 _If Toriel's right…_

 _Maybe she is. She might be._

 _She doesn't know me that well. How can she think these things about me after only knowing me for a few hours?_

 _You could tell a lot of things about your soldiers after only knowing them for a few hours. And they all turned out to be true._

 _Not all of them._

 _Most of them._

 _I don't want to bank on "most of them."_

 _Yes you do. That's exactly what you want. You want it to be true so that you can say you're not just some useless old man. So you can be of use to someone. To anyone. Anyone at all._

 _But still–_

 _[You're a better man than you think you are, Major Journa.]_

 _Wait what the h_

"Are you feeling alright?"

Grandt choked and blinked several times. What the hell was that? For a second, he thought he'd heard something else inside his head. Something besides his own thoughts. It'd made him go cross-eyed for a moment.

Toriel touched his forehead as though she were checking his temperature. "You are looking rather pale."

 _No. No, I just imagined that. I'm fine._

"Y-yeah," he said. He grabbed the wrist of his bloody hand and smiled sheepishly. "I think the pain's just starting to get to me, is all."

Toriel looked down at it and nodded. "You should go and wash the blood off. It will probably feel better after that."

"But if I–"

"Grandt," Toriel said a bit more firmly than usual, "I understand that you are worried about your granddaughter, but I am certain she will be fine if you take five minutes to clean your wounds. More importantly," she added, "she would probably want you to take care of your _self_ before you worry about _her_."

Grandt paused. No, that sounded right. Frisk would be horrified if she learned that he'd gone through this whole thing without taking care of his body.

So he nodded slowly. "Right. I'll just… I'll just head back and wash myself off."

"Good," Toriel said. And as Grandt stepped over to the vent leading down, he heard her call out, "Be sure to clean your wounds carefully! If I find even a drop of blood on you after you return, I will make you go back and do it again!"

Grandt chuckled in spite of himself. Toriel was acting like a parent admonishing a small child. Instead of like someone admonishing her friend. It was kind of funny, all things considered.

He stopped at the doorway leading to the room with the moon and the silhouette. He stared at it for a moment, and then he turned around and smiled back at her. "Thank you, Toriel," he said. "For everything."

And then he stepped out of the room, grinning widely to himself, with her words still echoing in his head. Maybe he really wasn't such a useless, stupid old man, after all. Maybe he really could help people.

* * *

Toriel watched Grandt leave the room, and then she let out a slow, quiet sigh. She had meant every word she had said, of course. That strange not-hope still resonated inside of her even now, filling her with determination and a desire to better herself. Anybody who could create such a feeling in those around them was incredibly inspirational.

And that was why – in spite of her emotional side screaming at her not to make this decision – she knew that she had to let Grandt leave the Ruins. Even if he ran the risk of dying out there, a part of Toriel was certain that he would survive. That he would manage something amazing.

Perhaps it was because a part of her was currently still intoxicated by that not-hope, or perhaps it was because she could not bear to watch Grandt suffer while thinking about his granddaughter. Or perhaps it was because she wanted to share that not-hope with the entire Underground and give them all something to dream about for once. Either way, she knew she could not keep him trapped inside the Ruins forever.

As soon as she was certain that Grandt was out of earshot, Toriel pulled her cellphone from her pocket and stared at it for a moment. Then she pulled up one of the only numbers she had stored. She knew it by heart because it was just the same digit repeated four times, but she enjoyed calling directly from her contacts page, anyway. It reminded her that she still kept in contact with at least one person outside of the Ruins.

She tapped the number and brought the phone up to her head. It began to ring for a few moments before it suddenly and abruptly cut off.

Then she smiled. "Hello, Sans? This is Toriel. I apologize for calling without notice, but there is a matter that I must discuss with you."

* * *

 **AN: Sorry about uploading this chapter a bit later than usual. was having trouble processing it for some reason, so I had to do things a bit differently than usual. This shouldn't be too much of a problem in the future.**

 **The section with Relef went on a bit longer than I meant for it to, but I'm still pretty happy with how it turned out. Same goes for the rest of the chapter, which is a lot longer than my usual fare. On the other hand, it gave me a chance to develop Grandt and Toriel a bit more, and it'll give me an excuse to just blaze past the next several rooms, so I can't really complain. Because I swear to God, I don't want the first part of Chapter 3 to be as long as the entirety of Chapter 2.**

 **Can you tell that I really like introspection? Because I really like introspection.**

 **I recently received a review where the reviewer was curious if they could translate this story into Russian. Please feel free to do this if you want, and for future reference, anyone can translate and repost this story provided that they a) contact me first so that I'll at least be aware of it (this can be done either in a review or in a private message) and b) credit me as the original writer.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read the story up until this point! Next time, progress! I know, I can't believe it, either.**

 **(Important Notice: I will likely be unable to upload anything for the next two weeks. This is because my workload's about to become immense again in the next few days, and I'm going to have pretty much no free time until I can get it all sorted out. I _might_ be able to upload a chapter next week, but I doubt I'll have the time for it. In any case, updates should return in early April.)**


	28. Chapter 3-10

Sans wasn't really sure what to expect when Toriel called him. Heck, how _could_ he? It wasn't like she'd ever really called him all that much, anyway. They usually scheduled out their meetings whenever they talked through the door to the Ruins – tomorrow at five, two days from now at six, whatever time worked for both of them. They talked on the phone sometimes, but not all that much.

More often than not, he was the one to give her a ring to let her know that he couldn't make it or something similar to that. She never really had that problem. Said she was never really all that busy. Sans understood that. He _wished_ he had as much free time as she did, and that was coming from a guy who spent most of his time doing nothing. Sitting around. Pretending he was working hard.

Her voice came out of the speaker. It was a bit scratchy since her phone was kind of garbage, but he could hear her well enough. " _Hello, Sans? This is Toriel._ "

He didn't know why she always prefaced her calls like that. Like he was gonna forget about her when they'd only talked just… how many days ago was it? Yesterday, maybe? It could've been. Time really didn't mean much to him, anymore. Once a day came and went, he just kind of forgot about it. Sure, there were a few exceptions. Holidays, Papyrus's birthday, and things like that stuck with him no matter how many other days came and went. There was something to them that was just too important for him to forget about. They were _different_ , but that wasn't really it. They just felt warmer and more valuable. Like golden sand in a brown hourglass.

That was part of why he liked talking to Toriel so much. It gave him something to be happy about when Papyrus was busy working or bothering Undyne. Maybe he didn't remember them as well as he wanted to, but so what? That just meant he could enjoy the next joke session even more.

" _I apologize for calling without notice,_ " Toriel continued, " _but there is something that I must discuss with you._ "

Sans leaned back against the wall. He was seated up on his mattress – a grimy, filthy thing that hadn't been washed in a long time. Papyrus kept telling him to clean his room before someone wandered in and died from the smell. So Sans locked the door. That seemed to work pretty well.

It also gave him an excuse to keep people from coming in.

"What's up?" he asked. "Are you not gonna make it today or something?"

" _No, that is not it,_ " Toriel said. She was quiet for a moment. A long moment. " _Sans, I need to ask a favor._ "

Sans paused. What? He couldn't've heard that correctly. Was Toriel seriously calling in a favor? _Toriel_?

He sat up a bit. Just a bit. "You… uh… You sure you wanna ask _me_ for this? I mean, sure, but it'll probably take a while." He chuckled. "Unless you want me to sleep a lot or somethin'. I'm pretty quick about that, being a _lazybones_ and all."

Toriel went quiet again. She wasn't laughing at his joke. That was a bad sign. She always laughed, even when the punchline didn't make sense. Toriel was weird like that.

Then she said, " _Sans. A human fell into the Underground._ "

* * *

Grandt stepped back into the room with the moon. Or rather, it'd _been_ the room with the moon. Now the sun hung high above the mountain, and Grandt could see its rays shining in through the ceiling.

He didn't look up. Not because he didn't want to. Because he knew that if he turned his eyes back to the ceiling, he wouldn't be able to look away. And he needed to clean off his wounds and get back to Toriel before anything else happened. Before he made any other stupid mistakes like punching a wall or trying to climb a ledge on his own or letting himself get trapped in the past again.

So Grandt walked past the hole in the ceiling without once looking up at it. He forced his eyes forward, his head level with the ground. He clenched his teeth and stepped onward, ignoring everything else with all the force he could muster. Leaves crunched beneath his boots. The sunlight felt warm against his side and head. Birds chirped loudly outside, apparently perched on some of the trees that grew on the side of Mt. Ebott. It seemed as though the universe was conspiring against him to get him to just _look up, turn your head up, turn your head towards the sky and stare at it and hope and pray and dream that someone's been looking for you._

He wondered what would happen in Ebott without him. Would Dyse, Kira, and Frisk keep living there even though they were the only ones left? Would they pack up their meager supplies, take to the road, and head to Hartsvaldt like everyone else? Maybe he'd get out of the mountain and they'd already be gone.

Grandt shook his head. _Stop it. Stop being so pessimistic all the time. There's no point in it._

He kept walking down the long, long hallway, thinking all the while.

 _They'll stay if they want to. Nobody's forcing them to leave. And they'll leave if they want to, as well. Nobody's gonna make them do anything._

 _Should they stay, though? There were barely enough of us to begin with. Now there's just two of them._

 _Three. Frisk's there._

 _She's a child. She can't take care of herself. Not yet. She's too young for it._

 _Still, she's there. That's all that matters. All that matters is that she's safe. Nobody goes to Ebott, anyway._

 _But people leave it. They leave it often._

Grandt blinked and brought himself back to reality. He was standing in that room from earlier – the one with the spikes in the middle surrounded by a pool of water. Slowly, he stepped over to it and knelt to the ground, feeling his legs crack beneath him as he went. Then he dipped his hands into the pool. The water was cool and still, and the blood washed away quickly.

Grandt sighed and went about scrubbing his hands against each other. This wasn't a perfect solution, but it was probably about the best he could do right now. It helped that his hands didn't hurt half as much as they probably should have. They just sort of throbbed dully in the same way that his heart throbbed in his chest.

 _Slowly._

 _Brokenly._

 _Just like every other Journa's._

His fingers slipped, and he accidentally stabbed a cracked fingernail into one of his wounds. "Shit!"

* * *

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long, long time. Then Toriel heard Sans breathe in slowly.

"… _you sure about this_?"

"Yes," she said without even a moment's hesitation. "But if you do not want to do it, then I will not force you. It is your decision, after all. Not mine."

" _Yeah._ " She heard Sans shift a bit on the other side of the line. " _I guess it is, huh?_ " He chuckled. " _That's a heck of a burden to lay on a guy's shoulders, Toriel._ "

"I know."

" _Yeah._ " A pause. " _Still, all you want is for me to keep him safe, right? Doesn't sound too tough. At least he'd probably be okay in Snowdin for a while. Nobody'd try to hurt him here._ "

"I hope not." Toriel leaned back against the wall and turned her eyes to the room's entrance. Then suddenly she smiled in realization, and she said, "Does that mean you accept?"

Sans chuckled. " _Eh, why not? Long as this guy's not a serial killer or somethin', I ain't got a problem with it. Besides, Papyrus'll lose his mind if he sees a human. How could I miss_ that _?_ "

Toriel's grin could have split her face. "Ah, Sans, thank you so very much for this! I am sure he will be delighted to hear this news!"

" _Sure._ " Sans paused, then, and she could hear the mischief creep into his voice. " _After all, it's like I've got a_ bone _to pick with this guy or anything, right? So why not give him a chance and_ snow _him around a bit?_ "

Toriel could not help herself. The sudden levity, combined with her own (self-admitted) poor taste in jokes, caused her to start laughing like a hyena. She laughed until tears rolled down her face, until her gut started to ache. It was probably about a minute until she was finally able to force herself to calm down. Even then, it took all her energy to not start back up again right then and there.

" _Hey,_ " Sans said, " _you good?_ "

"Y-yes, of course," she said, even as a few stray giggles got through. Then she turned to the chamber's entrance – or rather, the doorway through which she and Grandt had first entered the room –, and she paused for a moment. "It may not be a bad idea to let Grandt know about this now. Would you mind… uh… 'coming along' with me?"

She did not really need him there, of course, but it certainly would not hurt. Besides, Grandt had a right to at least learn the kind of person he would be dealing with in the near future. If he became used to Sans's personality now, it would make things easier when they met face to face in the future.

" _Eh, why not._ " Sans said. " _Not like I'm busy right now, anyway._ "

Toriel frowned. "Are you sure?"

" _Yep. My next job doesn't start 'til twenty minutes ago._ "

"Ah. That is good to–"

Wait.

" _Saaaans_ ," she groaned, and he burst out laughing on the other end of the line.

* * *

Grandt quickly realized that his hands were in a worse state than he'd originally thought.

His fingertips were covered in tiny cuts and scratches. His fingernails were splintered along the edges, so that small pieces of them hung off or shot out like tiny needles. Bruises spread across the knuckles on his right hand – the hand that had become quite intimate with one of the Ruins' walls not fifteen minutes ago. There were still traces of blood from where he'd cut his hand on one of the sharper bricks, but most of it was gone by now. Floating, drifting away in the pool of once-clear water.

Grandt sighed and began removing the stray parts of his fingernails one at a time. There was no point in accidentally stabbing himself again, after all. And there was no point in looking like too much of a mess, either. He was already an emotional wreck. He didn't need to be a physical one, too.

 _Wish I had a pair of nail clippers right now,_ he thought as a thin strand detached from the rest of the fingernail. But he hadn't thought to bring them with him, since he'd expected the climb up Mt. Ebott would only take about half a day. If he'd planned to climb to the mountain's peak, he might've considered otherwise, but he hadn't, so here he was. All he'd brought with him was a pocketknife that'd probably broken on the way down.

Not that he'd trust himself to cut his fingernails with anything that was too sharp. Shaky hands and all that.

Grandt smiled grimly. At least he still had a sense of humor. That went a long way towards keeping a man's sanity intact, and he needed his sanity if he wanted to get out of the Underground in one piece.

A nail fragment brushed against one of the cuts on his fingertips, and Grandt flinched again. The smile dropped from his lips, and he stuck his hands back in the water with a sigh. He scrubbed the rest of the blood from his knuckles using the underside of his left hand, ignoring the pain that came up every time he touched those darkening bruises.

Then he went back to his nails. And back to his thoughts, too.

 _There's no point in worrying about Ebott._ That was what Grandt decided as he tried to scrape the tiniest and most frustrating nail shard from his left pinky. _If they leave, they leave. That's their choice._

 _But they'll take Frisk with them._

Why was that part of his brain always so negative? Couldn't it just let him go twenty minutes without worrying about something stupid?

 _They should. She can't live in Ebott forever. There's not enough people there anymore. She must be lonely. There's no children her age. They all packed up and left for Hartsvaldt._

 _I won't be able to see her if they go._

 _That's selfish. And stupid. And I know it's selfish and stupid, so why can't I stop thinking like that? I just… I just shouldn't be this obsessed with it. I shouldn't be. I know that. Dyse and Kira should take her away from that place. They should just take her to Hartsvaldt already, or something._

 _Then she'll just be that much closer to Kallis._

Grandt finally tore off that tiny piece of his fingernail, and a bit of skin decided to go along with it. He breathed in sharply, but he was at least thankful that the pain took him out of another one of his pessimistic inner debates.

 _It's not pessimism. It's realism._

He grit his teeth. _Stop. Just stop thinking like that. It doesn't matter what it is. It's stupid and irrational and and and and pointless._

So he forced himself to think about other things, like the pain in his knuckles. The skin had finally settled on a blackish-bluish color. Just above the bruising, the cut had already closed up a bit. Or at least, it _looked_ like it had started to close. He wasn't a medic, so he couldn't really say.

Grandt stuck his hand in the pool and felt the pain disappear into the cool water. The blood had already washed into one of the grates on either end of the pool, and the water had become clear again. So clear, in fact, that he could see his face in it. It looked older and more tired than he remembered. Grimier, too.

He grimaced and touched his face. His beard was matted and filthy. His neck was coated in dirt and dust. His head was scraped up a bit from where he'd hit the ground. Grandt imagined that his clothes probably looked worse, but he didn't really want to look at them too closely. Really, his face was all that bothered him at the moment.

Had he looked that disheveled the first time around? Or the second or third times? He looked so old. So tired. And so filthy, too. It wasn't even the almost-dignified dirtiness of a soldier coming back from the battlefield, or the understandable dirtiness of a chef who'd just finished cooking a particularly messy meal. Was this how he always looked? Like someone who was already half dead?

Grandt just ran a hand over his neck for a few seconds, taking it all in. Then he looked up from the water and stared over to the passageway on the other side. "Well," he said to nobody in particular, "there's no point in looking this way forever."

He stuck his hands into the pool, closed his eyes, and began the rigorous process of washing the grime off his face. Everything above his beard came off easily enough. Grandt was mindful of his splintered fingernails and cut up fingertips, and he managed to avoid cutting himself up any further.

" _Managed to avoid it." Right._ Grandt rubbed the water over his eyelids. _Because God knows I'd screw it up and stab myself, otherwise. Arthritis and all that._

Grandt cracked a grin as he washed off his forehead. How _was_ Papyrus doing, anyway? He was probably getting along pretty well at the moment. Probably preparing for Christmas. Or making puzzles. Or making Christmas-themed puzzles.

It was weird. He reminded Grandt a bit of… of _somebody_. He wasn't sure who it was, though. Maybe Dyse? No, he wasn't cynical or rude enough to be Dyse. He was probably closer to Kira. Or Frisk.

 _Or Nines._

Grandt felt his hands go numb.

Why was he thinking about _her_ now? This wasn't the time for it. It wasn't the place for it, either. It'd be better if he just stopped his brain from heading along that path immediately. He could go back to ripping off his fingernails or to making himself look vaguely presentable or to doing literally anything else.

 _But it's true, isn't it? Kind, optimistic, cheerful to a fault, hopelessly naïve…_

Grandt's hands shook a bit. His throat felt tight. _Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it don't_

 _Fire._

 _Bright. Burning. Smoke._

" _Nines? What happened to her?"_

 _There was a man in the village. Nobody knew him._

Grandt suddenly pulled his hands down further. One of his fingernails trailed down the side of his neck, leaving a long and shallow cut as it went.

His breathing was shallow, too.

Grandt just knelt there for a moment, eyes wide and mouth partially agape. He stared into the pool again, watching his face and his throat and his eyes. His hands shook against his neck. Then he pulled them away and stared at them for a moment.

"Calm down…" he whispered. "Please. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down."

 _Too fast._

 _It's going too fast!_

"Calm _down_!"

It was getting harder to breathe. His voice sounded raspy.

A hand went down to his neck

 _Smoke_

to check his pulse.

 _in his lungs._

To force himself to breathe harder.

 _can't breathe where are they can't breathe_

He moved it down

" _They're all dead, Major."_

below his collar,

" _Everybody died but you and Frisk."_

and time seemed to stop.

 _Everything_ stopped. His breath. His heart.

 _No._

There was something there. He could feel it. _There was something there_.

Something thin.

Something familiar.

Something around his neck.

 _Cr_

* * *

Sans wasn't really sure why he'd agreed to look after this Grandt guy. Sure, he sounded okay – or at least, Toriel's _description_ of him sounded okay –, but that didn't really mean much to him. Was it callous of him to admit that? Maybe. But it was still true.

Besides, monsters weren't supposed to help humans. They were supposed to kill them on sight. Or they were supposed to inform someone _else_ to kill them on sight. Those were the rules. They weren't really written anywhere, but they didn't need to be. Everyone just knew them.

Of course, that didn't mean all that much when so few humans fell down, anyway. Considering that most of them got killed by accidents and all. Sans could count the number of humans who'd fallen down on one hand. The number of humans who'd been killed by monsters? One finger. And that one had been an accident, too.

He leaned back against the wall. So what was the point in helping this guy out, then? What was his motive, his reason? What good would it do anyone to keep him alive when everyone needed to his SOUL to escape the mountain? It was just because he wanted to see Papyrus smile or anything like that, though that _was_ a part of it. There was something else to it. He just wasn't sure what it was.

"… _and I am certain that the two of you will get along very well! He shares your sense of humor._ "

Sans blinked. Had Toriel been speaking that whole time? She wasn't usually this talkative. Loud, yeah, but she never really rambled on that much. Weird.

"He does, huh?" Sans asked, trying to pretend that he'd been listening the whole time. "Sounds like a funny guy."

" _He is! Sans, you_ must _see what he is doing with the puzzles down here! You would get a kick out of it._ "

"Yeah?"

" _Yes._ " Then there was a long pause, and Toriel sighed. " _But he is suffering, too._ "

"'Cause he's old?"

" _Maybe. I think that is part of it, but…_ " Toriel paused again, as though she were searching for the right words again. " _I think there is more to it than that, Sans. I think he hates himself._ "

"What makes you say that?" Sans asked.

" _His words. And his actions. He has broken down more than once. He called himself an idiot._ "

Sans nodded again. If that were true, it meant the old guy was probably harmless. That'd make things easier. People who beat themselves up didn't really have all that much time to beat up others. Sans knew that better than anyone.

" _Anyway,_ " Toriel continued, pushing his thoughts aside, " _I should see him soon. Once I reach the end of this hallway–_ "

"You're _still_ there? How long is that thing, anyway?"

" _Too long,_ " Toriel said. " _I have considered cutting it down a tad. I could probably fit a puzzle in it if I try hard enough…_

" _But Grandt should be just at the entrance to the next chamber. Then I can introduce the two of you and let him know that he can leave the Ruins._ " Toriel stopped walking. " _I just hope we can make it to Home without him breaking down again._ "

Sans knew what she meant. Toriel was a bit too kind for her own good. She wasn't as kind as Papyrus, but she was pretty damn close. For her, Grandt beating himself up must've been like something out of a nightmare.

And that was the guy he'd have to deal with in the near future. Sounded like fun. At least nobody'd get hurt from it, and it'd probably go by quickly.

Plus, it'd give him a chance to introduce Papyrus to a real human. He could tell him it was an extra Christmas present or something. Let the two get to know each other for a bit, then ship Grandt's SOUL off to the capital when his time came. Sans could always tell Papyrus that Grandt had gotten out of the mountain safe and sound and that he'd returned home to his family or something. Sure, it was a lie, but did it really matter all that much? It'd make Papyrus happy, knowing that his new friend was okay. That was all that really mattered.

Besides, what difference did it really make? If Grandt died because of natural causes, there wasn't really anything Sans could do about it. Keeping him safe from monsters was easy. Monsters could be misdirected, and most really didn't want to fight, anyway. Most of them didn't even know what old humans looked like, so Grandt could probably just stumble on past them as long as they didn't look too closely at his SOUL.

But time? Time was inevitable. Time couldn't be challenged or fought off or misdirected like monsters could. That was something else that Sans knew better than anyone.

At least Papyrus would be happy for that short period of time. And as long as he didn't go and blab to Undyne or any of the higher-ups in the Royal Guard, Grandt would be able to live his last few days peacefully. Or as peacefully as things could get for him, at least. It was a win-win situation. Except for the part where Grandt would spend the rest of his life trapped under a mountain. That was pretty bad.

But hey, Grandt was just an old man. At least it'd be quick.

" _Ah, here we are…_ " Toriel said.

"You made it?"

" _Almost._ "

"'Almost'? How much longer is it?"

" _There are only a few more steps to go._ _Aaaand here we are!_ "

Sans chuckled. "Congrats. You walked down a hallway."

" _It was a_ long _hallway._ "

"I'll have to take your word for it."

Toriel snorted. " _In any case… Oh, I see him._ _Grandt! Gra–_ "

And then her voice suddenly cut off into a sharp gasp.

* * *

When Toriel walked into the chamber, Grandt was facing the pool opposite the entrance. His back was hunched over, and his hands were in front of him. Perhaps he was still cleaning them.

"In any case… Oh, I see him," she told Sans.

Still, why would he bother to clean his hands while standing up? The pool was down at his feet. Maybe he had finished already and was now drying them off? His clothes were covered in dirt, though. If he wiped his hands on them, they would only get filthy again. Toriel would have to talk to him about it and teach him some proper cleaning etiquette. But that could wait a little while longer.

"Grandt!" she called. He started to turn towards her. "Gra–"

And then she saw his front, and all that came out of her mouth was a sharp gasp.

Grandt's neck, fingers, and face were all drenched in blood. His hands were trembling. His neck was covered in thin cuts and scrapes and slashes. His fingernails were jagged. Uneven. They were like tiny, dripping needles.

"G-Grandt…?"

She took a step forward. Grandt recoiled back, and she noticed that his expression was twisted in fear. His pupils were pinpricks. His mouth dangled open and trembled and shook. And had his face always been that pale?

Toriel shuddered. _Focus!_ she told herself. _Focus!_

" _Toriel?_ " Sans asked.

She blinked. The phone was still on? She was still holding it? How had it not slipped out of her hand just yet?

Toriel slowly – very, _very_ slowly, with all the care and patience somebody handling an explosive – slid her phone into her pocket. She did not need to have one hand occupied right now. Sans could hear her, and she could hear him. That was all she needed.

" _What's going on? Is something wrong? Toriel?_ "

Toriel ignored him and took a step forward. "What are you doing, Grandt?" Her voice was shaking. Her hands were shaking. The world was spinning and shifting and _shaking why is everything shaking?_

Grandt stepped back so that his foot was against the edge of the pool. He clawed at something wrapped around his neck. "Have to get it off…" he whispered in a mad, raspy sort of voice.

His fingernails slashed and cut into his skin. All the while, he stared at Toriel with that horrified, almost-feral expression on his face. Blood dripped down from his neck to his jacket, from his fingers to the floor. Everything it touched turned red.

"Have to get it off…" Grandt gasped. "Get it off… Getitoffgetitoffgetitoff…"

" _Toriel?_ " Sans asked, cutting through Toriel's thoughts.

And the world immediately stopped spinning.

Toriel lunged forward as quickly as she could. She grabbed Grandt's hands and pulled them away from his neck. Blood splattered against her fur and clothes.

Grandt fought back with all of his might. But he was an old man, and she was stronger than him. So even as he desperately tried to pull his fingers towards his neck again, he could not push against her grip. He thrashed about and kicked and bled. Insanity continued to cloud his vision, and none of his attempts at fighting off Toriel did anything but show off his frailty.

"Let me go!" Grandt screamed breathlessly. "I have to get it off! Let me go! _Let me go_! I have to! I have to!"

Toriel grit her teeth and held his arms apart. "Stop this, Grandt!"

There was a spark in his gray eyes as he pushed back against her grip. Was that Determination? Was he so desperate to rip that object off his throat that he was willing to go that far?

 _But if he becomes Determined, I will not be able to hold him anymore! Please… Please! There must be something that I can–_

And Sans's voice cut in again. " _Hey, what's he doing? Toriel? C'mon, Toriel!_ "

"This is not the time, Sans!"

As soon as she finished said Sans's name, the spark in Grandt's eyes disappeared. He blinked, and for just a moment, awareness returned to his face. "Wait… Sans?"

" _Yeah?_ "

Toriel relaxed a bit. Perhaps he was becoming lucid again. Perhaps he was returning to his old self. If that were the case, she could talk him down. She could find a way to help him, to save him. She could wash off the blood and bandage his wounds and ask him why he was–

And the spark suddenly returned to Grandt's eyes. Only this time, it was brighter than before. It filled his pinprick pupils and spread out from there, until all but the whites were consumed with it.

Grandt pushed back. This time, Toriel could do nothing. He shoved her away, and her back collided with the stone floor.

Then he began clawing at that thing on his neck again. But now he moved faster. More frantically. And his breaths sounded more labored.

"Have to get it… Have to… Have to get it off… Get it off…"

Toriel forced her way back to her feet. The light had now faded completely from Grandt's eyes, so that they had become completely dull and dim. Any trace of awareness had disappeared completely. Now he just looked like a wild animal – crazed and screaming and relying entirely on instinct.

Toriel slammed her eyes shut, but the sound of scraping flesh and dripping blood remained. _Focus!_ _Do not let him do any more damage to himself! Focus!_

She could feel her phone in her pocket. It was bloody, but Sans's voice still came through well enough. " _What's he trying to do?_ "

"His neck," Toriel said numbly. "There is something wrapped around his neck."

" _And he's trying to cut it off?_ "

"With his nails, yes." She opened her eyes. "Sans, be glad you are not here. It is…" She breathed in slowly, and the rotten smell filled her lungs. "It is horrible."

"… _yeah. Sounds like it._ "

Grandt continued to scrape at the object. "He can't… Can't… Where is…?" He sputtered and stumbled forward. "Has to be… He has to be here! Where is he…?"

Every time he scratched at the thing on his neck, his fingers simply slipped over it. Could he not get his fingers under it? Was it too tight?

 _Is that the problem? Can he not breathe? Is he suffocating beneath that band?_

No. If he were unable to breathe, he would not be able to speak. So why was he panicking so much about it? And why had he wrapped that object around his neck like that if it was so tight? Was he not responsible for it? Perhaps it had been an accident, but then…

 _Focus!_

Toriel breathed out slowly, mostly to get the odor out of her lungs. So Grandt could breathe. But what if he thought he could not? What if he was panicking because he _believed_ he was choking? Yes, that could be it. In that case, if she could convince him that he was not in any immediate danger, she could simply burn it off with a weak fire spell and get him to relax.

She stepped towards him again, this time with her plan in mind. "Grandt, please calm down," she said as calmly as she could.

"Have to…"

"I can help you." Her voice cracked a bit. The look in Grandt's eyes was just too much. He looked as if he were about to start foaming at the mouth.

Grandt ignored her. "I won't… I won't…"

So Toriel shouted, "Grandt, stop ripping at your throat!"

"No!" But his fingers did freeze. He stared at Toriel for a long moment. "I can't. I can't! I have to… Have to get it off… I can't… I won't…"

She grabbed at his hands again and pulled them away, and Grandt immediately started panicking again. "Stop!" he screamed. "Stop, stop, _stop_! Let me go! Please, let me go! I have to get it off! I have to! I _have_ to! _I won't let him kill me again_!"

Toriel's thought processes came to a sudden and immediate halt. "… what?"

* * *

Sans let out all the air in his body in a single long, drawn-out hiss.

" _What_. _Did he just say_?"

* * *

Toriel's hands slipped away from his. But this time, Grandt didn't immediately go back to clawing at his neck. Instead, he just stared straight ahead, as though he were looking through Toriel's body at something far away.

"It's over." His voice was dry and raspy and filled with nothing but despair.

"Grandt?" Toriel stepped forward and reached towards his face.

He looked so much older, now. His bloody fingers trembled at his sides.

"It's all over, now." Was he speaking to her or to himself? It sounded like he did not even know she was there, anymore. "I said it again. And he _knows_. It's over…"

Sans had gone dead silent on the other end of the line.

"I called…" Grandt said. He stepped forward, past Toriel. He stepped over to the wall and stared emptily at it. "I called. I screamed. He was there. But nobody came. And he…"

* * *

 _Crack._

* * *

"And he…"

* * *

 _CRACK._

* * *

"And he…" Grandt reached towards his neck again, slowly. "And he… And he… And he… And he… And he… And he…"

* * *

And Grandt _screamed_.

He dug his fingers back into his neck.

There was no pain. Not anymore.

The pain had gone away a long time ago.

Back when he'd started.

Back when he'd ripped away the flesh.

Back when he'd pretended not to know anything.

That was pain.

But he couldn't feel his neck anymore.

All he felt was smoke in his lungs. Fire on his face.

" _Traitors… don't deserve to live."_

" _Dad, please! Just take Frisk and run!"_

" _Nines? What happened to her?"_

The flower.

The vine around

 _stop_

his neck,

 _get it off get it off get it off get it off get_

shattering it completely.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…"

Did Toriel say something? He couldn't hear her.

Did Sans say something? He couldn't hear him.

Was he still in the Ruins? He couldn't see the walls.

Where was he?

Everything was just…

Red.

Burning.

 _And Fain screamed._

 _She screamed because Shord was dead._

 _She screamed because Kallis killed him._

 _She screamed because he killed her, next._

And then something gave way. Grandt choked and coughed and stumbled. The Ruins returned. The walls came back. And he turned around, and he smiled at Toriel.

* * *

He slowly held the band up. It was thin and riddled with small cuts. Beneath the blood, Toriel could make out bits of green.

Grandt smiled at her. It was a vacant, empty smile. "I… I got it."

* * *

Strange… Why did Toriel look so upset? It was gone. He was safe. It was okay, now. Everything was okay.

Grandt took a step forward. He stumbled, but that was fine.

"It's gone." The world was red and shifting, but that was fine. "The flower's gone."

"' _The flower'?_ "

Was that Sans? When did he get to the Ruins?

 _Wasn't he always here?_ Grandt tried to think about that. But thinking hurt his head, and now his brain was swimming in his skull. What had he just been doing, anyway?

Grandt tried to step forward again, but his legs wouldn't work. And why did he suddenly feel so tired?

The world was spinning. And there was something dull in his neck that he didn't recognize. Was it pain? Maybe. He hadn't noticed it before. But now it was the only thing he felt. But that was okay. The flower and the fire and the smoke and Kallis were all gone. So why did his chest feel so strange? So fast…

"It's all okay, now. It's all… It's all…"

Then Grandt's heart exploded in his chest, and the world disappeared.

* * *

 **AN: So normally I'd leave this chapter without an author's note, since really, I should just let it speak for itself. But unfortunately, it's been over two months since the last update, and I feel like I need to explain myself a bit.**

 **Basically, college ended for me at the beginning of May, and I stopped writing this story because I wanted to spend time focusing on my exams and final projects. I intended to get another chapter out when I got home and had more free time. The key word here is "intended." As it turns out, it doesn't matter how much you intend to do something if you don't sit down and do it. I had about up until Grandt's first scene written for about a month, now, but it wasn't until a few days ago that I finally sat down and forced myself to finish it up. I kept telling myself to write throughout May and June, and every time I did, I said, "I'll just do it later."**

 **It's not like I lacked the motivation for it. Hell, if anything, I was extremely motivated, since this story was almost always on my mind. What I lacked was discipline. I lacked the discipline to force myself to sit down and write this thing. And for that, I apologize.**

 **That's all there really is to it. Again, I'm sorry. I'll try to keep going as best I can from now on. All I can promise is that there _will_ be a chapter next week, no matter what happens.**

 **So thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, reviewed, or even just read the story up until this point, and thank you to all of you who have been so incredibly patient these last few months. Next time, Subchapter 3-1 will either nearly or completely come to a close.**

 **EDIT: I shouldn't promise things like that. As of this edit (July 14, 2017), I have made substantial progress on the next chapter, but it will likely not come out for a little while longer. It looks like it's going to be a bit longer than I'd expected. That being said, I now know that it will definitely be the last part of Subchapter 3-1, so at least it has that going for it. Sorry for that, and thank you for your patience.**


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